Confusion steamrolls into me when I fail to detect Phillipa’s floral scent. This smell lingering in the air is spicy and masculine with the slightest hint of garlic.
Dimitri chuckles out a breathy laugh when I test the durability of his car’s locks. “You’d have a better chance of shooting out the bulletproof windows than getting its lock mechanisms to budge. I paid out the eye to make this thing a tank, but the quality of the product was worth its exorbitant price tag.”
After working my jaw side to side, I drag my eyes to Dimitri. “What do you want, Dimi—”
“Information.”
His quick reply is more exposing than the shortness of it. I have something he needs—badly—and I plan to use that knowledge to my advantage. “That isn’t how things work. We ask you for information. If we find it beneficial, we help you. That’s what being an informant entails.”
“Informant?” He scoffs out the word as if it’s vomit. “I’m not an informant for the FBI. They work for me, not the other way around.”
“That may have been how things worked with you and Tobias, but that won’t fly with me.”
Acting as if I never spoke, Dimitri hands me a sheet of paper. “Is this report accurate?”
My heart launches into my throat when I speed-read the document he handed me. It’s a write-up on the mass burial site we found in the Shroud’s equipment shed. The exact thing I had planned to interrogate him about. Although manufacturing and selling babies on the black market aren’t the same thing as selling designer wives, it is when there’s a common link. Rhianna Shroud was purchased from an association on the outskirts of Hopeton. The Petrettis have had a stronghold in Hopeton for over forty years. That can’t be a coincidence.
“Where did you get this? This hasn’t even been logged with the Bureau yet.”
Even Harvey agreed that what we stumbled on is too big to be released publicly yet. If news of what we’ve discovered gets out, we’ll have less chance of bringing the perps to justice. They’ll go into sleeper-mode even quicker than the Castro crew did after our failed sting. Then once the heat dies down, they’ll pop up in a new location, which will take authorities another decade or more to uncover.
My focus returns to Dimitri when he says, “Where I got this information isn’t important. I just need to know if it’s true?” A weird twinge is impeding his voice. It’s possessive and somewhat manic, similar to the tone Grayson uses anytime he talks about Katie.
“Yes, it’s true.” I could have denied his claims, but my gut is telling me my honesty will be better rewarded. Furthermore, if the Petrettis are helming this operation, why would one of the top honchos be seeking information from me?
I nod when Dimitri asks, “Are all the victims female?” His jaw clenches as tightly as his fists. “What’s the average age of the women found?”
“Preliminary findings state the victims are between the ages of thirteen to late twenties.” I don’t mention the toddler I found in the wall because as far as we can tell, her death isn’t linked to the women buried outside. She wasn’t of childbearing age, so she doesn’t fit the profile Harvey is working.
My reply offers Dimitri little comfort. If anything, it agitates him more. “Had any of the victims recently given birth before their death?”
“We won’t know that until the autopsies are completed.”
“You would know!” Dimitri shouts, startling both the driver and me. “You’d know because she’s eight months along…” He grits his teeth before correcting, “She was eight months along.”
I learn how he and Tobias came into contact with each other when he hands me a photograph of a heavily pregnant woman with a gag in her mouth. Big splotchy tears are streaming down her cheeks as she stares past the newspaper someone is holding out in front of her. It’s dated a little over two years ago.
Remorse stabs me in the chest when Dimitri mutters, “I paid the ransom they requested.” I can’t tell if it’s anger filling in his face or overwhelming grief when he pauses to catch his breath but realize it could be a bit of both when he mutters, “They didn’t uphold their side of our agreement.”
I almost comment that paying a ransom is practically signing the kidnapped victim’s death certificate, but I keep my mouth shut, knowing no amount of words will appease Dimitri right now. He wants justice, and he wants