“Yes. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Who else knows?”

Abby counted on her fingers. “My parents, Will Vereen, and anyone else you told.” She spread her hand.

“I didn’t talk to anyone about this. And if it doesn’t hurt the case, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Okay.”

“They’ll probably find out sooner or later.”

“Yeah. But I won’t fall for the cheap trick you pulled on me again.”

As if on cue, the track ended, and the song “Won’t Get Fooled Again” started playing. Abby had to smile at the perfect timing. She tweaked the volume. God, she loved this song. They drove in silence, listening to the music, the trees rushing past them.

CHAPTER 30

As they’d agreed beforehand, Detective Wong from the Suffolk County Police waited for them by the side of the road about half a mile before the Tillman farm. She leaned on the hood of her car, smoking a long cigarette. As Carver parked the car, Abby scrutinized the woman. Wong was tall with perfect tawny skin and smooth brown hair pulled back into an immaculate ponytail. She wore a black jacket and matching sailor pants that Abby knew from experience she could never in a million years pull off.

Abby opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car. “Detective Wong? I’m Lieutenant Mullen.”

Wong nodded, exhaling a plume of smoke, and walked over to shake Abby’s hand. “I remember you. We talked a couple of times on the phone a year ago.”

“And this is Detective Carver from the NYPD.” Abby gestured at Carver. “He’s the lead detective on the Nathan Fletcher case.”

“Your case is getting a lot of publicity this morning,” Wong said, shaking Carver’s hand. “Do you really think the Tillman farm is related?”

“Well, both of Nathan’s parents lived there,” Carver said. “And it’s possible the father still does. We need to find the father in any case, regardless of the Tillman farm. What can you tell us about it?”

Wong shrugged. “Lieutenant Mullen already knows most of it. Two years ago a teacher in the local high school approached us saying a fifteen-year-old girl in her class, Ruth Lindholm, had told her that she had sexual relations with a grown man. Ruth lived on the Tillman farm. I came over to the school and interviewed her there with the school psychologist present. She told me there was a man on the farm who had sexual relations with her twice. She also said her parents knew about it.”

She paused every few seconds to take a long drag from her cigarette, smoke punctuating her sentences. “We went to the farm and arrested the man. A day later Ruth showed up with both parents alongside Otis Tillman and said she’d made up the entire thing. We tried to investigate further, but after a few weeks, we had to drop the case. No one there would really talk to us except for Otis. And he’s . . . well, I don’t know if you can believe a word he says. Not even hello.”

“Does the man who assaulted Ruth still live on the farm?” Carver asked.

“Oh yeah. They all do. One big happy community.” Wong took one last drag and dropped the stub on the ground, then squashed it with her foot. “Come on, let’s get there before lunch starts. During meals Otis usually does one of his sermons, and those can go on for hours.”

They got back into the car and followed Wong as she drove down the road. Abby’s phone blipped, a curt message from Sam letting her know she was awake. Abby quickly texted that she’d call her later.

They turned right at a rough gravel path and drove a few hundred yards until they reached a closed gate. A barbed wire fence stretched in both directions, presumably circumnavigating the entire farm. Abby watched Wong’s silhouette in her own car as she called someone.

“So you talked to Wong a year ago?” Carver asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Abby stared through the window. “One day I might be called to a police siege on Otis Tillman’s farm. On that day, I want to be prepared.”

“So . . . what? You research all the cults and weird religious movements in New York City and Long Island?”

She eyed him, deadpan. “And the rest of the state. And three in Pennsylvania.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

“These things have gone terribly wrong before.”

“I know they have. But—”

“The gate’s opening.” Abby pointed.

The electric gate opened slowly, and as soon as there was enough space, Wong drove through with barely an inch left on each side of the car. Carver waited patiently for a few seconds more, then followed her into the farm.

Otis Tillman waited for them by the large house.

Abby’s body tensed up as she saw the man. He was thin and pale, his hair curly and frizzy. He wore a large pair of thick spectacles. As they stepped out of the car, he smiled, exposing a slight overbite. Everything about him seemed harmless, clumsy, perhaps even endearing.

Abby knew the truth. This wasn’t a sheep. This wasn’t even a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This was a cancerous growth in sheep’s clothing. It didn’t just attack you. It killed you from within.

“Detective Wong,” he said warmly, approaching her. “It’s so nice to see you again.”