Broken Trust (Badge of Honor 13)
“And this was all at two, you say?”
“Starting at two, when I turned up the houselights. The stragglers trickled out by two-fifteen or so. Miss Morgan was among the first ones to leave, before the lights went up.”
The video stopped.
Krowczyk said, “He adds nothing past that point. McCrory should anytime now have all the surveillance video taken of the condo lobby, going back to twenty-one hundred hours, and from the hotel.”
“Okay,” Payne said. “You find anything on Austin or Benson?”
Krowczyk shook his head.
“Not really. Austin has only a website for his wealth management firm. And it shows only the most basic contact information with a line that says, if I recall exactly, ‘We offer investment and philanthropic advisory and strategic planning services for foundations, endowments, and individuals.’ That’s it. Nothing in-depth. And he has zero personal social media stuff.”
“What about Benson?”
“He has a personal page, which appears to have been more or less inactive for about the last year. And beside a basic website, NextGenRx.com, he has a business social media page that’s essentially a promotional site for the medical device. It doesn’t allow anyone to post anything on it. So there’s no paths to follow there.”
“What about Camilla Rose Morgan?”
“Ah, now, she’s the total opposite. She has social media pages for herself personally and for her charities. And they are packed with activity. Her picture is everywhere. Here, I’ll show you the Camilla’s Kids Camp website as an example.”
The video interview of Harvey Wolfe was replaced.
“Now, that’s impressive,” Payne said. “It shows that more than five hundred thousand people follow her camps on social media.”
“There’s a reason for that. Just look at all they do,” Krowczyk said as he clicked on the link to the camp calendar and read the screen. “Week one is for kids with cancer. Week two is diabetes. Then heart problems. Sickle cell. Asthma/Airway. Arthritis/Hemophilia. Spina bifida. Immune deficiency/kidney. Epilepsy. That’s a lot of sick kids.”
“The half million are ones who have attended and/or want to attend,” Harris said. “The kids who get picked pay nothing to go.”
“What’s this Founder’s Message video link?” Payne said, pointing. “Can you play it?”
Krowczyk clicked on the box and the screen changed to show Camilla Rose, clad in crisp khaki shorts and a white T-shirt and ball cap logotyped CAMILLA’S KIDS CAMPS, smiling and waving with both hands at the camera. Behind her, on a wooden pier jutting out into a river lined with moss-draped trees, a half dozen children in wheelchairs held fishing poles. Her voice came from the computer speakers.
“Hi, I’m Camilla Rose Morgan. Welcome to Crystal River, Florida, home to one of my four ACC-accredited camps for children with extreme medical challenges. Every week at these twenty-million-dollar wonderlands, kids come to experience the excitement of the expected—and the unexpected.
“Our state-of-the-art medical facility features a full-time physician and nurse, plus volunteer doctors and nurses who specialize in the disease of each week’s group of campers. And our superb staff counselors, one staffer for every three campers, are true professionals who have passed a rigorous vetting process.
“While parents do not attend—that would distract from the experience—they do know that all campers’ needs are constantly monitored. Campers are provided their daily medications and any procedures, from chemo to dialysis, then they head out for a full day of sun and fun.
“Here on the Gulf Coast, for example, there’s fishing, boating, swimming in the Olympic-sized pool, horseback riding on the beach, craft workshops, and much more. After dinners, we gather round the campfire for singing and skits and laughs.
“Lots and lots of the latter, as laughter is the best medicine. Just ask the campers themselves.”
“Reminds me a great deal of Boy Scout camp . . .” Payne said.
They watched the image of Camilla Rose being replaced by a shot of what looked to be a girl of maybe ten or twelve holding out her right arm as she made a video recording of herself. She had a sweet, engaging smile and bright eyes that gleamed like the tiny diamond studs in her earlobes. And she had a very bald, very shiny head.
Payne added, “Except without the terminally ill kids. Guess the chemo got her hair.”
The little girl said, her voice squeaking with emotion, “I just had to say thank you for the best time I have ever had in my whole life! I didn’t know it was possible to do all the fun things you taught me. I learned so much about staying strong and getting better. Thanks to you, no matter what, I’ll always be a Camilla’s Can-Do Kid!”
Payne felt his throat tighten, and he caught himself wiping his eye.
“Wow,” he said, after he cleared his throat. “Powerful. And another example of why my gut says she didn’t jump. She said those kids were her calling in life.”
“I hear you,” Harris said, clearing his throat, too.
Payne looked at him and noticed he showed signs of also having had moist eyes.