Land of Entrapment (2 page)

I nodded again, for lack of anything else to do.

Another silence descended. I heard, faintly, the creaking of Grandpa’s rocker and the thump-thump-thump of a canine hind leg as one of the dogs scratched.

“K.C., I thought—”

I interrupted her. “Why are you here?” There was a hard edge to my voice. I could see its reflection in her expression. She dropped her gaze and her lower lip trembled slightly. Dammit. “I mean...” Damn, damn, damn. I took a deep breath. “I mean that I don’t think we should talk about that. Later, maybe.”

Without thinking, I reached across the table for her hand. I suddenly realized what I was doing and jerked it back to my lap. She noticed.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Of all the things she could have said, that was the one I didn’t want to hear. It threatened to destroy my resolve. Please don’t let her see me cry. I rubbed my eyes, intensely relieved that my fingers came away dry. “Just tell me why you’re here.”

She sighed, the old you can be so stubborn but I’m usually right sigh I remembered too well for my own emotional well-being. “Megan’s gone.” Melissa stared hard at the tabletop.

I sat back, caught somewhere between shock and anxiety. “What do you mean, gone?”

“She took off about a month ago. We haven’t seen her since.”

I didn’t miss the we. “Did you call the police?”

Melissa jerked her gaze back to me. “They can’t do anything. Megan’s twenty-one. She’s considered an adult. Besides, she’s been calling.”

I stared at her, perplexed. “So why are you saying she’s gone? What’s the problem?”

“She’s calling from different numbers and she’s not using her ATM card.” Melissa looked pointedly at me. “And I think she’s in questionable company.”

Okay, I thought. So Melissa trucked herself out here to a broiling part of Texas because her younger sister ran off with a guy. I hadn’t seen Melissa in nearly three years and the only reason she came calling was to tell me that Megan’s keeping

“questionable company.” My skepticism must have been obvious because she continued, impatiently.

“I think her boyfriend is a neo-Nazi.”

Now that was a different matter. I knew Megan had some issues growing up, but she seemed okay even after Melissa and I had parted ways. “Why would you think that?”

“His tattoos, for one. He only wears long-sleeved shirts around us, but a week before Megan disappeared, he showed up at a barbecue at our house and he had his sleeves unbuttoned but not rolled up.

He reached for something and I saw that he’s got a swastika on his left forearm.”

“Oh, hell.” I sighed and shifted into analytical mode, always a safe way for me to deal with my emotional shortcomings. “Well, maybe he’s seen the light and hasn’t had it removed yet. Does he know about you and Hillary?”

“Yes. When Megan first introduced him to us, she said that Hillary and I were partners.”

“So has he done anything that would make you think he’s still running with a bad crowd?”

“No. That’s just it. He was always very polite and friendly to me and Hillary and he seemed to like Megan a lot. But when she disappeared, I went to her apartment and found all kinds of...of really horrible pamphlets, full of racist bullshit and stuff about the white race and...K.C., it made me physically sick. To think that Megan might be getting into that.”

It generated a physical reaction in me, as well. My stomach clenched. “Had she been saying anything strange, acting differently toward you? Maybe it was subtle and you didn’t catch it. Think.”

Melissa fell silent. “No.” She paused. “Wait. She asked me about two months ago why I thought I was gay. She’s never asked me that. She’s always just...

It’s never even really been a topic of discussion.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I was born this way and she asked me why, if there’s a genetic component, she wasn’t gay.

Never mind the fact that we only share one parent.

But I told her that the latest studies—you know, trying to use science—suggest that whatever goes on in utero might have something to do with it. That the way hormones interact in the uterus—you know what I’m talking about, right?”

I nodded. I’d seen the latest studies, too.

“And then she asked if that was true, could I take hormones and change it?” Melissa stared at me, intense. “What the hell do you say to that?”

I didn’t know. So I waited.

Melissa brushed hair out of her face. “I told her that nobody knew for sure what the hormone cocktail did or was made up of in the womb and that there was no way to alter the hard-wiring of your brain, which is what happens when you’re in utero and when your hormones continue to work on you throughout your life.”

“And what was her response?”

“She just kind of shrugged and said she had heard that you could change your sexual orientation and then Cody called—”

“Cody? That’s the boyfriend?” I interrupted.

“Yes. And she took the call and said she had to go.”I chewed my lip, thinking. “Did she bring it up again after that?”

“No.”

“Has she said anything about your grandma?”

Melissa shook her head, sad. “She stopped talking to her.”

Oh, hell. Melissa’s Nez Perce grandmother lived in Oregon. She had married a white man and their kids married other whites, as well. Still, Melissa was close to her grandmother and her Native roots. Megan was the child of Melissa’s father and his second wife.

Because of dad, Megan and Melissa shared their Native American grandmother. I sat back. “It sounds like this guy’s not trying to leave the movement and that he’s recruiting Megan.”

Melissa watched me, lips drawn in a thin, tight line.“Here’s the hard part,” I said gently. “She’s an adult. And you can’t really tell her what she can and cannot do. The police can’t do anything about this unless one of them has committed a crime. Belonging to a white supremacist group is not a crime in this country. I’m sorry.” She looked at me and I could see tears in her eyes, which made me want to hug her. I refrained, with a mighty internal effort.

“But what if you think they might commit a crime?” she pressed.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think she really wants to be with Cody or his group. Not anymore, anyway. She calls about once a week and she’s vague about where they are, but some of the stuff she says makes me think that she’s waking up to what’s happening here. And if she really did totally buy into Cody’s message, why is she still calling her dyke sister?”

“What does she say to make you think she’s not on board?” I leaned back in my chair, mentally calling up my research files.

“It’s not so much what she says, it’s how she says it. She’ll say that she’s fine and everything’s fine and she doesn’t want me to worry about her and then she’ll say weird shit like if I think it’s wrong to take money from corporations and give it to struggling Americans.”

“What?” I furrowed my brows in thought.

“Remember I told you that back in the late eighties I was involved in ActUP! And QueerNation and all those groups that protested Reagan’s response to AIDS?”

“Yeah.” I had done that, too.

“Okay, Megan knows I did that stuff and she knows that I rag on corporate interests and I’ve told her that if you believe in something, you should fight for it. Except I never thought she’d believe in the supremacy of the white race, especially after knowing you and what you research.” Melissa paused for a moment. “Anyway, she asked about belief and what it might take to make you believe something. I told her that belief was a really powerful thing but it could also work against you and it could make some people do bad things, things that hurt others. And she said she had to go and she hung up.”

I tugged on my chin, listening.

“I asked her why she just doesn’t come home and she said that she has something to do that’s bigger than herself but something in her voice... I don’t think she wants to be part of it anymore.”

“Do you think she’s being held against her will?”

“I don’t know.” Melissa sighed. “Pressure from a group...”

“Cult.”

She looked at me, surprised. “Is this a cult?”

“What my research shows is, yes. White supremacist groups are like cults. There’s usually a charismatic leader who convinces others to follow his—the leader’s usually male—example and then the underlings perpetuate the message and actively recruit outsiders. The group controls access to information through whatever means, whether peer pressure, threats to tell the leader, appeals to your convictions, things like that. You’re indoctrinated with the beliefs of the group through constant repetition and constant reinforcement.” Jesus, I sound like a documentary.

“The group controls information?”

“Yeah. And eventually, you come to think that any outside news or information is suspect and part of the larger conspiracy that the group’s leaders and indoctrinated members are trying to convince you is real.” I ran a hand through my hair. “See, not many people think of white supremacists as a cult so there isn’t really a network of de-programmers.”

“People who get you out of a cult.” She reached for her iced tea, avoiding my eyes.

“Exactly. It’s an approach to white supremacists that I’ve been digging around in for the past couple of years especially. Anyway, de-programmers help those who leave the groups adjust to real life outside the cult. However, even if you do manage to leave the movement, it takes a long time to let go of what it did to you.”

Melissa’s shoulders sagged. “So I can’t do anything until Megan either commits a crime, comes home on her own, or winds up hurt or dead somewhere?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that so I kept my mouth shut.

“That’s total bullshit, K.C. That is total fucking bullshit.”

“Megan’s an adult.”

“She’s a hostage!”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Cults...” I paused, considering the ramifications of my words, decided to say it anyway. “They’re like addictions.”

She glared at me. “Megan’s not using anymore.”

“Hey, relax.” I wanted to believe her. “One of the things many modern white supremacists espouse is absolutely no drug or alcohol use. So if Megan’s with this crowd, chances are they’re not allowing her access to anything. Which is a good thing because it keeps her from completely falling under their control.

Think about it. Did you ever see Cody drinking?”

Melissa shook her head, realization in her eyes.

“No. He always went for the Diet Coke.”

“Did you see any names on the literature from Megan’s apartment? Any group affiliations?”

“No. I was so disgusted and scared I didn’t really read it.”

“Did you save it?”

“Yes,” she said with a well, duh tone. “I’m an attorney. It’s evidence.”

Before I could think about what I was saying, I said it anyway. “Let me have a look at it.” The relief in her eyes wouldn’t allow me to change my mind. I kicked myself mentally from Grandpa’s porch to Amarillo and back again.

“Thank you. It would mean so much to me. When can you come?” She leaned forward, hopeful.

“Um. Where? To Albuquerque?”

“That is where I live,” she said snappishly.

“Whoa. Hold on. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“How else are you going to see the stuff I found?”

Mail it? “Melissa...”

“You can stay at Megan’s place,” she continued.

“I’m paying the rent and bills on it until...” She stopped and bit her lip.

I shook my head slowly. “Hold on. As much as I think it sucks what’s going on with Megan, I don’t know if I can help. Why don’t you hire a private investigator?”

“I tried that,” she said impatiently. “And most would have taken the case but they don’t know anything about groups like this. I even tried contacting other people who research them and they all politely told me that it sounded like I needed the police or a PI.”

I ran both hands through my hair, extremely uncomfortable with what she was asking of me. “Hey, I don’t have any sort of affiliation with law enforcement. There’s not a whole lot I can do. And besides, you’re a lawyer. You deal with stuff like this all the time. Why can’t you just—”

“Please, K.C.,” she said, a slight sarcastic edge to her words. “Don’t think I haven’t considered that. It would make everything so much easier.” I heard the unspoken “than having to deal with you.” She looked at me, pleading. “You know Megan’s history. You know her. She trusts you.” Melissa watched me.

“Remember what happened the last time?”

I did. Megan got strung out somewhere five years ago and Melissa didn’t see her for a week. She hired a PI her firm used to track her down and he found her in some dive over in Albuquerque’s War Zone. The police had to get involved because drug paraphernalia littered the apartment. Megan was arrested but Melissa managed to get her probation—

Megan was a minor—and treatment.

“If Megan’s caught up in something illegal, I might not be able to keep her out of prison this time.”

Melissa faltered and glanced away, clearing her throat.

“So you want to know exactly what she’s doing with this guy,” I said slowly, to make sure I understood what she wanted. “And you want it sort of ‘unofficial.’ ”

Her gaze snapped back to mine. “Yes. If Megan is caught screwing up again, I have some decisions to make. I can either let it go, as much as that hurts, or report it. As much as that hurts. But if she’s not with him of her own volition, then I might be able to cut a deal with the DA if Cody’s doing anything illegal that Megan’s privy to.”

I saw Melissa’s point, but I felt extremely uneasy.

“What about Chris? Did you call her? Or think about calling her?” I was reaching here, knowing almost instinctively she hadn’t, because Chris would’ve called and told me if Melissa contacted her. Chris tells me pretty much everything, unless it’s something that’ll compromise her investigations with the Albuquerque Police Department.

Melissa’s eyes clouded. “I didn’t feel right doing that. Especially since I haven’t talked to her since you left. Besides, she would have told me to talk to you, too.”

She was right. Shit.

“You’ve worked with groups like this,” she continued. “You’ve talked to people who are still part of them. You’ve gone to meetings with them. You know these people. Maybe you can figure out which group it is and what they might be planning to do.”