The Forgotten Holocaust (Ben Hope, Book 10) by Scott Mariani Page A

between the rows of lock-ups was deserted.
    So far, so good. Her spirits brightened at the thought that the killers might not even have the slightest idea that there was a witness to their actions on Friday night. If that was the case, then they were about to find out. The hard way.
    She hurried away from the lock-ups and towards the street, where the taxicab was waiting for her with the meter running. ‘Where to now, missy?’ the driver wanted to know.
    ‘Downtown,’ she said. ‘Police Department Headquarters.’
    ‘It’s a done thing,’ the driver said, and took off as she shut herself in the back. Erin leaned against the seat and closed her eyes, thinking about what she was going to say, about the DVD and phone in her backpack. And about Angela’s husband.
    At the downtown police building, she walked up to the main desk and cleared her throat to get the attention of the grizzled duty sergeant. He looked up at her, unsmiling. He was in a dark blue shirt with short sleeves and the shield that bore the cityscape logo with the legend ‘TULSA POLICE’.
    ‘My name is Erin Hayes,’ she said. ‘I want to speak to a detective. The most senior one you’ve got. And right away.’
    Whether it was the look in her eye or the tone of her voice, something appeared to make the cops take her seriously. Within five minutes she was met in the reception lobby by a tired-eyed though pleasant-looking plainclothes officer about the same age as her, who introduced himself as Detective Topher Morrell and led her to a small office away from the hubbub. He waved her to a chair, where she sat clutching her backpack on her lap, and perched himself on the corner of a desk with one leg dangling casually, as if he didn’t expect this interruption to last more than a minute or two before he could return to the many more pressing matters littering his desk. ‘Now, uh, Miss—’
    ‘Hayes. Erin Hayes.’
    ‘Right. You told the duty officer this was serious.’
    ‘I doubt you’ll get anything more serious come in this week,’ she said.
    ‘Then talk to me.’
    ‘I’ll need to start from the beginning, okay?’ she said, and Morrell frowned as if stabbed by an internal pain. ‘I work for the Desert Rose Trust,’ she went on determinedly. ‘We’re a charitable organisation that provides resources to help the underprivileged young Catholics of Oklahoma to get an education.’
    ‘Yeah, I know what the Desert Rose Trust is,’ Morrell said, bored already, and flicked a downward glance at his watch.
    ‘Then you’ll know who its director is,’ Erin said.
    ‘Uh-huh. Sure. Everyone in Tulsa knows that.’
    ‘I’m her personal assistant. I answer directly to her. It’s a rewarding job, but I have a lot of responsibility and it gets stressful sometimes.’
    Get in line
, Morrell’s expression was saying.
    ‘My boss and her husband own a cabin out on the east shore of Oologah Lake,’ Erin went on. ‘Three days ago …’
    He listened as she went on with her story. It wasn’t long before his look of boredom vanished completely. He wasn’t looking at his watch any more. The leg stopped swinging. He shifted into a more alert posture, watching her intently and the crease in his brow deepening. He looked as if he was having trouble keeping his jaw from gaping open. By the time she’d told the whole story, he was off the desk and pacing the room in agitation. ‘You’re sure?’ he kept asking her.
    ‘If you don’t believe me, watch the video,’ she said, placing a hand on the backpack. ‘It’s all here. Everything I just told you.’
    Morrell stared at her for several intense seconds, then held up a hand. ‘Wait here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.’ He strode hurriedly out of the room, shutting the door hard behind him.
    Erin waited in the empty room for a couple of minutes before the door burst open again. She looked up to see a large, square-shouldered man enter the room, with Morrell in his wake. He was several