Page 82 of Her Final Hours
“Lass, I told you, I’m the lead on this case.”
She doubled down on her request. “Put your ego aside for two damn minutes, for goodness’ sake.”
His glare lingered for a moment before he relented. He took a step back, though his gaze remained fixed on Patrick.
Patrick’s eyes bounced between them, doubt clouding his features. Finally, he spoke. “I didn’t touch the girl. That was Eduardo. I was just there as a driver. You know, just in case thecops pulled us over. I could show ID, show that I owned the van and worked for the company.”
Callie couldn’t believe the admission she was hearing.
“If I had known at the start, I wouldn’t have done it, you know,” Patrick continued, dripping with remorse. “After getting out of the pen, I tried to tell them I didn’t want to continue, but I was in too deep by that point. They had too much on me.”
Callie continued to inch forward. “Deep in what, Patrick?” she probed, her gaze locked on his.
Patrick’s hand trembled, the weight of the gun becoming palpable. He tapped his temple with the barrel. “They know how to get in here and screw it up,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “They are animals. Worse than animals. But that’s their thing.”
Whether it was intuition or not, Callie noticed Patrick’s gaze flickering towards the Fish and Game Hunting Club as he spoke. Sensing a potential connection, she pressed further, determined to extract the truth. “Did you meet them through this place?”
Reluctantly, Patrick replied, “I only came here because I like to fish and hunt. A friend of mine invited me. They told me that this place was different. It’s different, that’s for sure.”
“Everyone is involved?” she asked.
“Not everyone. They’re careful. Very careful. They know who to approach and who not to. At first, it was good. You know, the people I met, the hunts I went on. They helped me out, gave me money when needed, and invited me to closed-door parties. Then after a few years, we were all around having a few drinks and laughs, and someone brought up this topic about what it would be like to get paid to do what you love. Hunting, they meant.” He took a deep breath.
Callie’s mind raced with possibilities. The mention of closed-door parties and the insinuation of a secret society sent shivers down her spine. She leaned in closer, her voice lowering. “And at these parties, who were the people you met? Give me names. Who else was involved?”
Patrick shook his head. He knew the risk and the potential consequences of revealing too much. “I can’t,” he finally whispered.
Frustrated but undeterred, Callie gestured towards the club building. “You’ve all but told us,” she replied, accusation in her words.
Patrick scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “This is just one of many places in this county and others,” he admitted, the weight of knowledge heavy upon him. “There are countless people involved.”
Callie’s mind began connecting the dots, the missing girls scattered through the state, the gatherings, and sinister undertones. It was a chilling revelation that expanded the investigation’s scope far beyond what they had initially imagined. No wonder it had been hard to pin down to one person.
Patrick continued to reveal fragments of his involvement. “They got interested when they found out that I worked for a plumbing company that could be called out at all hours for emergencies. Said they could use someone with my skills.”
Callie’s thoughts raced. She understood the seductive power of belonging, the allure of finding acceptance among those who treated you as an equal. “I should have realized,” he murmured, guilt coloring his choice of words. “But you have to understand. I didn’t have any close friends back then; certainly, no one who treated me like I was one of them.”
Callie fell silent, allowing him to continue to speak. She knew that given enough time, suspects often gathered enough rope to hang themselves.
As his words echoed in the wintry air, it only got worse.
“They told me they wanted to help families and young kids trapped in bad situations. Abusive,” he continued. “You see, theyknew about my past. My rough upbringing. That’s what I’m saying. They are careful. They told me they knew of wealthy families out of state that couldn’t have kids. They weren’t looking for babies but someone older that they could give a future. Yet they didn’t want them too old that they couldn’t mold, love on, and…” His voice trailed off, and his gaze averted as a flock of birds scattered into the sky. “They said that society was messed up and geared toward making people’s lives hard. That it was full of red tape. Too much red tape. Years of waiting to adopt. Many were denied. And these families just wanted to help those who wanted a good family,” Patrick said. “They told me these girls wanted to be wanted.”
Callie’s eyes narrowed, disbelief and horror washing over her. She struggled to comprehend the depth of depravity that he was describing. “So you just went along with it?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger.
Patrick nodded. “I figured those telling me this wasn’t out to harm anyone, they were skirting around red tape. You’ve got to remember; these are people with kids of their own. Why would they want to hurt them? I didn’t think anything of it. I thought I was going to do some good. Sure, it was unusual, but as I said, I didn’t realize it until they pulled the first one into the van and I saw the fear in her eyes. By then, it was too late.”
Continuing to be stern with him, she pressed him for more information. “Then what? What did they do with them?”
Patrick averted his gaze once more, unable to meet her eyes. “She was dropped off at a holder,” he replied.
Confusion crossed her face as she sought clarification. “A holder?” She was struggling to comprehend the term.
Patrick nodded solemnly, his voice filled with resignation. “They have names for them all, but it’s all the same in their eyes: fishing and hunting. There are spotters, those whose job is solely to select the right one. To pick them out. Catchers, likeEduardo, scoop them up. Holders, who keep them until they are ready to be handed off to the deliverers — you know, the ones who take them on to the final home. It’s done that way so that no one ever knows. Everyone involved is integrated into every facet of society. Teachers, landscapers, construction workers, preachers… those who can get close, those who society lets their guard down for, who open their doors to….”
Callie’s eyes widened with realization, her voice cutting through his words. “Summer camp counselors?” she injected, a chilling thought dawning on her.
Patrick nodded, confirming her suspicion. “That’s a spotter,” he clarified.
