Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

town.”
    “Can we go someplace and talk? About Julian Perkins.”
    “You mean right now?”
    “Before they use him and our friend for target practice.”
    Cathy looked at her watch and nodded. “There’s a coffee shop right down the block. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
    I T WAS more like twenty minutes. When Cathy finally swept into the coffee shop, her hair wild and windblown, she brought in the smell of tobacco on her wrinkled, smoke-permeated clothes, and Jane knew she had been sneaking a quick cigarette in her car. Now the woman looked jittery as she slid into the booth where Jane was waiting.
    “So where are your two guys?” asked Cathy, glancing at the empty seats.
    “They went to buy camping gear.”
    “They’re joining the search party tomorrow?”
    “I can’t talk them out of it.”
    Cathy gave her a long and thoughtful look. “You people have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
    “I was hoping you could tell me.”
    The waitress came by with the coffeepot. “Fill it up, Cathy?” she asked.
    “Good and strong, I hope.”
    “Always is.”
    Cathy waited for the waitress to leave before she spoke again. “The situation is complicated.”
    “They made it sound simple in that meeting. Send out the posse, hunt down a cop-killer.”
    “Right. Because people always prefer things simple. Black and white, right and wrong. Julian as the evil kid.” Cathy drank her coffee straight, gulping down the bitter brew without a wince. “That’s not what he is.”
    “What is he, then?”
    Cathy fixed her intense gaze on Jane. “Have you ever heard of the Lost Boys?”
    “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
    “They’re young men, mostly teenagers, who’ve been cast out of their homes and families. They end up abandoned on the streets. Not because they’ve done anything wrong, but simply because they’re
boys
. In their communities, that alone makes them fatally flawed.”
    “Because boys cause trouble?”
    “No. Because they’re competition, and the older men don’t want them around. They want all the girls for themselves.”
    Suddenly Jane understood. “You’re talking about polygamous communities.”
    “Exactly. These are groups that have nothing at all to do with the official Mormon Church. They’re breakaway sects that form around charismatic leaders. You’ll find them in a number of states. Colorado and Arizona, Utah and Idaho. And right here in Sublette County, Wyoming.”
    “The Gathering?”
    Cathy nodded. “It’s a sect led by a so-called prophet named Jeremiah Goode. Twenty years ago, he started attracting followers in Idaho. They built a compound called Plain of Angels, northwest of Idaho Falls. Eventually it grew into a community of nearly six hundredpeople. They’re completely self-sufficient, grow their own food, raise their own livestock. No visitors are allowed in, so it’s impossible to know what’s really happening behind their gates.”
    “They sound like prisoners.”
    “They might as well be. The Prophet controls every aspect of their lives, and they adore him for it. That’s the way cults operate. You start with a man like Jeremiah, someone who attracts the weak-minded and the needy, people who desperately want someone to accept them. To give them love and attention, to fix their pitiful broken lives. That’s what he offers them—at first. That’s how all cults start, from the Moonies to the Manson Family.”
    “You’re equating Jeremiah Goode with Charles Manson?”
    “Yes.” Cathy’s face tightened. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s the same psychology, the same social dynamics. Once a follower drinks the Kool-Aid, they’re his. They give Jeremiah all their property, all their assets, and move into his compound. There he exerts total control. He uses their free labor to maintain a number of highly profitable businesses, from construction to furniture making to mail-order jams and jellies. To an outsider, it looks like a utopian community where everyone contributes. In return, everyone is taken care of. That’s what Bobby Martineau probably thought he saw when he visited Kingdom Come.”
    “What should he have seen instead?”
    “A dictatorship. It’s all about Jeremiah and what he wants.”
    “And what’s that?”
    Cathy’s gaze hardened to steel. “Young flesh. That’s what The Gathering is all about, Detective. Owning, controlling, and fucking young girls.”
    A woman in the next booth turned and