Page 57 of Devil's Hour

We deserve better leadership, so rise and demand it. Stop allowing degenerates to make policies and keep order. Purification is the only way to save our city. From the ashes, we will rebuild a community of people who share our values, a city we can be proud to call our home. We can be a shining beacon for cities across the country and the world. We the people have all the power, and it’s time those who abuse us know it.

Peace to our brothers and sisters.

“This is sounding more and more like a religious fanatic to me,” Royce said.

“Or a cult,” Sawyer replied.

Royce dialed the chief on speakerphone. “Locke, do you have something for me?” she asked briskly when she picked up.

“The Purists updated their site. It’s bad, Chief.” Royce recapped the video for her.

“Son of a bitch. I have a meeting with Commissioner Philips in thirty minutes. How am I going to look him in the eye?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem as long as you don’t watch the video,” he quipped.

Rigby made a noise that was part chuckle and part choke. “Smartass. I am going to call Jonah and give him the latest information, then meet with the commissioner. Continue on with notifications.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sawyer pulled back onto the street and Royce called the after-hours number for the apartment complex. The woman, Tabby Johnson, was neither friendly nor cooperative. She hung up on Royce as soon as he identified himself and stated the reason for his call. He dialed back and used a much firmer voice the second time around.

“How do I know this isn’t a joke?” she asked sleepily.

“I can show up at your front door with my badge or you can meet me at Crystal Akeman’s apartment to let me in.”

“Crystal’s fine,” Tabby said. “I just saw her like a day or two ago.”

“Ma’am,” Royce began.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“I’ll give you ten.”

Royce received a call from an unknown caller almost immediately after he disconnected from the property manager. “Sergeant Locke,” he said into the phone.

“This is Agent Daphne Hampshire with the FBI,” the woman said. “I see you processed a last-known-address request for Crystal Akeman. Why?”

“How do I know you’re really with the FBI?” he asked, sounding as suspicious as Tabby Johnson.

“Call the Atlanta field office and ask for me.”

“The phone number is?”

“Google it,” she said before hanging up.

Royce looked at the phone, then looked at Sawyer. “This is a bad dream, right? This has to be a continuation from the nightmare I had at Candi’s.”

“You had another nightmare?” Sawyer asked. They had a vigilante cult, dead bodies, and now the FBI calling, but Sawyer was concerned most about Royce’s recurring nightmares. “Was it a bad one?”

Royce nodded as he searched for the phone number for the Atlanta field office. “It was, but you made it better.”

Sawyer placed his hand on Royce’s thigh, squeezing gently while Royce jumped through hoops to reach Agent Hampshire.

“Now do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Royce said.

“Good. Now, what do you want with Crystal Akeman?”