Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [114]
Joanna had never seen Carol Mossman in the flesh, but the resemblance between Andrea and her younger sister, Stella Adams, was downright spooky. Both had the same mousy light brown hair that must have come from their mother, Cynthia. Both had the same haunted-looking eyes, although Andrea wore glasses and Stella didn’t. Andrea wore a faded cotton robe and carried a box of tissues. She looked as though she’d been crying.
“I had no idea Pam and Carmen were dead,” she said, half sobbing. “Not until a few minutes ago, when Grandma called to tell me. I can’t believe it. It can’t be true.”
“I’m sorry to have to say this,” Joanna said gently, “but it is true, Ms. Mossman.”
Andrea Mossman sank into an overstuffed easy chair covered in a fabric with a pattern of bright-pink peony blossoms and yellow butterflies. “I was about to get dressed and come to Bisbee to talk to you,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
“May I sit down?” Joanna asked.
Andrea nodded woodenly and motioned Joanna onto a small bright yellow leather couch. On her way out of the office, Sheriff Brady had paused long enough to collect a pocket-size tape recorder. She pulled it out of her purse and set it on a nearby end table. Then she took out her cell phone and switched it off.
“Do you mind if I record this conversation?” she asked.
“No,” Andrea said. “Go ahead.”
Joanna switched on the recorder. After identifying herself and giving the time and date, she introduced Andrea Mossman. “And you know why I’m here?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” Andrea replied. She stopped long enough to force down a sob. “It’s because all of this is my fault.”
“Your fault?” Joanna asked. “Why is that?”
“Because I’m the one who heard what Pam and Carmen were looking for,” Andrea said in a rush. “One of my clients—one of the former Brethren women whose children I helped counsel and who ended up living in L.A.—somehow learned that Pam Davis and Carmen Ortega were looking for a way to do a story—an insider’s story—on The Brethren and what goes on with them.” Andrea paused and looked closely at Joanna’s face. “You do know what goes on, don’t you?”
Joanna nodded. “I have a pretty good idea,” she said grimly. “Your grandmother told me some of it, but I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
Andrea Mossman’s face darkened. “Among The Brethren, women are nothing, and girls are less than that. They’re pieces of property, to be traded back and forth. And abused. For some of the girls, it’s the first thing they remember. For others, it’s the first thing they forget.
“Pam had heard about me through that former client. She contacted me and asked if I would help her put together a story on The Brethren. That same client has a son named Josiah who still lives in the family compound up in northern Arizona—out on what they call the Arizona Strip. He helped his mother get out, and he’s functioned as a spy for us ever since. Among The Brethren, boys are given far more freedom to come and go than women and girls are—it’s a lot like the Taliban that way. Josiah has been able to smuggle messages in and out for us. It was through him that I found out about…”
“Cecilia’s wedding?” Joanna suggested quietly.
Andrea glanced quickly at Joanna’s face, then she nodded. “You know about that, too—about my father’s other family?”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t have told you Josiah’s name,” Andrea said. “If anyone finds out he helped us…”
“He’d be in danger, too?” Joanna asked.
“What do you think?” Andrea broke off. After a minute or so, she went on. “If it hadn’t been for Josiah, I wouldn’t have known what was going on. I didn’t think I could stop it, but Pam and Carmen convinced me that if they