As he walked past people—mostly in their twenties, thirties, and forties, but some children as well—who seemed almost oblivious to his presence, as though they’d been told to ignore outsiders, Campbell definitely felt out of place. Just as he was sure his father had been when visiting the same compound two decades ago in the pursuit of justice for the victim he was investigating.
Observing a gathering of people surrounding a man whom Campbell recognized as the cult leader, Kenneth Braison, he headed in that direction. He wanted to speakwith the one person most likely to give him at least some of the answers he sought.
As his followers parted the way like sheep, Campbell walked up to the charismatic leader. In his early forties and with blue-gray eyes, Kenneth was a couple of inches taller and firmly built, with long, wavy brown hair combed backward, thick brows and a circle beard.
Kenneth brushed his long nose and said curtly, “Detective Sawyer… What brings you to my neck of the woods this time?”
Campbell peered at him and responded with an edge to his voice, “On Founder’s Day, a woman was discovered in Reston Hills Park—dead from an overdose of fentanyl.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Kenneth uttered tonelessly. “Again, why are you here?”
“We think that she was part of the so-called Braison Family,” Campbell replied bluntly. “As she was found naked and with no identification—apart from your initials tattooed on her right forearm—I need you to identify her…” Campbell watched Kenneth react to this before he took his cell phone out of his sport coat and pulled up a picture of the initials on the victim’s arm. “Look familiar?”
“Yes, it does,” Kenneth admitted. He added defensively, “We don’t require anyone to do what she or he doesn’t want to do. The initials are all about showing you’re serious about being a part of our community and not here for games. That’s it.”
Campbell was sure there was pressure to capitulate, as a way to maintain control over his flock. “I’m not here for games,” he pointed out sharply and then showed him a photo of the woman’s face in death.
Kenneth took a long look at the decedent’s face before sucking in a deep breath, then saying evenly, “Her name is Mia O’Dell.”
Campbell took note of this. “How old was she?”
“Twenty-eight. Or so I was told.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“A couple of days ago,” he claimed.
Campbell set his jaw. “Did she live here?”
“Yeah, Mia stayed in one of the cabins when she chose to be at the compound.”
Campbell peered at him. “Have any idea how she ended up at the park naked and strung out on drugs?”
Kenneth shrugged. “Wish I could say I did, but afraid not. There are no guards or gates keeping anyone locked in against their will—as opposed to keeping unwanted intruders out. So people tend to come and go as they please. It’s better that way.” He lowered his chin. “As to OD’ing on fentanyl, we do not use drugs here, Detective, as you discovered the last time we were graced with your presence. We have no control over what people choose to do away from the Braison Family ranch. Apparently, Mia decided to play by her own rules when she was elsewhere…”
“I think she was playing by the rules of whomever supplied her with the deadly fentanyl,” Campbell countered straightforwardly.
“You could be right about that,” Kenneth said. “But you won’t find that person here. As I said, we don’t allow drug use or dealing on this property.”
“Wish I could simply take your word for that. But it doesn’t work that way when investigating a homicide.”
Kenneth flinched. “You said she OD’d…”
“She did,” Campbell reiterated. “But whoever gaveMia the drugs could be criminally liable for killing her—and won’t get away with it.”
“Nor should they,” Kenneth said in agreement.
But he was too smug for Campbell’s comfort. “Where were you in the early hours of Founder’s Day?” he asked him directly, in corresponding with the estimated time of Mia’s fentanyl exposure and death.
Kenneth answered quickly, “Right here—all night long and throughout the day. We celebrated Founder’s Day here at the ranch.” He paused. “Or most of the Family did.”
“Can anyone vouch for this?” Campbell asked acutely.
“How about everyone?” Kenneth responded with ease. “We had a bonfire and sang songs. It was a real lovefest. Feel free to ask anyone.”
Campbell doubted that any of his followers would contradict his alibi. Certainly not any who were still alive. Meaning that he likely wouldn’t get very far in loosening any tongues if the man had drugged Mia. Or had taken or followed her to Reston Hills Park.
Campbell thought he might try a different tack. “You mind if I take a look around?”
