Listen

  What was this? Tiny words?

  And then he saw it. He held the paper up to read so his eyes would adjust properly. The words popped as he followed the first line from top to bottom: I can’t stop now.

  The second line, from left to right, jagging toward the bottom, read Too much is at stake.

  The last one caused his breath to catch: Life and death are in the power of the tongue. Someone was sending him a message? Why him? He put the paper down, looked hard at it, tried to calm himself.

  Whoever was behind this Web site knew him? knew he worked at the newspaper?

  Damien grabbed the paper and barreled down the hallway toward Edgar’s office. He paused outside. Was Edgar the right person to talk to? With this sudden influx of paranoia and flat-out anger? The door was shut, but he could hear Edgar on the phone. He peeked in the window. Whatever Edgar was discussing, it seemed important, judging by the deep line down the middle of his forehead.

  He barely heard a few words. Something about the newspaper lifting out of despair.

  Damien backed away from the door and studied the puzzle. I can’t stop now. Too much is at stake. Life and death are in the power of the tongue.

  What did this mean?

  Suddenly Edgar’s door flew open, and he almost knocked Damien over. Damien stumbled backward.

  “You need something?” Edgar asked, pausing his swift step.

  “Um . . .”

  “What?”

  “No, nothing. It can wait.”

  “Fine. Get me that article!”

  Damien returned to his desk, where he laid open the letter. He could not stop staring at the words. His mind raced through the million possibilities linked to this.

  His fingers brushed the tops of the keys on his keyboard. He should write the investigative piece.

  But his heart said there was more to say than facts. The facts didn’t do justice to what Marlo had become, at its own hand, no less.

  He glanced back at the paper. Disclosing this to Edgar was the obvious and only choice.

  Except . . .

  The author had reached out to him. Had sent him the message. Was communicating this to him. If he kept it private, he might have more of a chance of discovering who was behind all of this. Did anyone else receive a letter?

  He grabbed the paper, carefully slid it into his briefcase, and hurried down the flights of concrete stairs. At ground level, he burst through the door, gasping for breath. He leaned against the brick in the alleyway, breathing. Thinking. Worrying.

  This was too much.

  His daughter had been friends with girls like this.

  His son and the things he’d chosen to do behind closed doors. The way he couldn’t talk to him anymore.

  His town, rotting from the inside out.

  Damien closed his eyes, willing himself not to break down. The world felt heavy now, but there had to be a solution. Some way to stop this madness.

  He took in the cold air, hardly fresh thanks to nearby smokers. He fingered the loose threads of his sleeve.

  He should tell.

  But he wouldn’t. He’d wait and see.

  And maybe send a message of his own.

  “Mr. Underwood?”

  Damien looked up to find Reverend Caldwell approaching him, his hand outstretched just like on Sunday morning.

  “Reverend,” he said, shaking it. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you, actually.”

  “How is Gabby?”

  Pain flashed across the reverend’s eyes. “She’s hanging in there. I don’t know if she’ll ever be the same.”

  “I am so sorry this has happened to your family.”

  “I wanted to tell you that Gabby is starting to talk a little about what’s going on.”

  Damien wished he had a pen and a pad of paper.

  “She mentioned your daughter.”

  “What?”

  “Jenna apparently hit a girl recently? Gabby said that Jenna was defending her.” The reverend’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t tell you what it means to us, to our family, that someone would stand up for her. I wanted to personally thank you and ask that you would thank Jenna on our behalf.”

  Damien felt himself choking up. Pride swelled through his whole body. “I will. Thank you for letting us know.”

  The reverend started to walk off, then turned back to Damien. “You have a chance.”

  “A chance?”

  “I’ve always enjoyed all the columns you’ve written over the years. There’s a war raging now, and you have the right weapon.”

  22

  Frank got out of his cruiser, shut the door, and stretched and groaned, trying to shake the achy feeling in his muscles.

  On the other side, Gavin did the same. “This must be how cops feel in Los Angeles.”

  “I’ve never taken so many calls in one day.” Frank twisted his lower back, hoping to relieve the pain.

  They walked toward the station.

  “The women at the hair salon?” Gavin said, shaking his head. “Assault with a hot iron? over a dress size? And another fight at the post office. When is this going to stop?”

  Frank nodded.

  “Last night,” Gavin continued, “I was having a conversation with my girlfriend and I stopped, you know? I was like, man, I don’t want everybody to know this.”

  They walked a few steps and then Gavin said, “Frank, where do you go?”

  Frank glanced at him.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but sometimes you just kind of disappear.”

  He slapped Gavin on the back. Tried a warm smile. “Nothing for you to worry about. You ask a lot of questions. Maybe you should consider a detective spot later, huh? Go get some rest. Good work today.”

  “Thanks.” Gavin turned toward the locker room.

  Frank went for the coffeepot.

  “Frank!” Grayson was flagging him down. “Get to my office, will you?”

  Frank poured himself a tall Styrofoam cup full of the cheap stuff and headed toward the captain’s office.

  “Come on in.”

  In the corner of the room a man with broad shoulders and a shaved head stepped forward, offering a hand. “Gary Blanco.”

  “State police sent him in to help with the investigation,” Grayson said. “He does a lot of work in child porn cases.”

  “Good to meet you,” Frank said as Grayson gestured for them all to sit.

  “Frank, it’s been crazy out there, hasn’t it?”

  Frank nodded, glancing at Blanco. “People are losing their sense of self-control and reasoning.”

  “Gary was just explaining to me what he’s turned up so far.”

  Gary sat comfortably in his chair, glancing over some notes he’d grabbed out of his briefcase. “Usually these things are pretty easy to crack. The first line of defense is the use of the registrar’s privacy service. This normally comes with a fee, but it protects your identity if someone wants to go searching for who the Web site belongs to. Hackers usually can get past this anyway, and a subpoena works pretty fast for the host to cough up the information.

  “And a lot of times these guys will put in fake names and addresses or what have you, but normally we can trace back to the computer being used and find them in their house.”

  “Normally?” Frank said. “I take that to mean this isn’t normal.”

  “Yeah,” Blanco said. “Sometimes they’ll slip up and host the site on an IPS with other sites they own. A lot of times they’ll try for a PO box or some such. But again, those just cause delays. They’re hurdles we can jump over.” He checked his notes. “The name on the account and the address are fake. Looks like he paid a year in advance, possibly with a Visa prepaid money card, which is untraceable when purchased with cash. We’re still working on that. He’s apparently using a CMS, allowing him to add content from anywhere, and is most likely using public terminals to access the site.”

  “And,” Grayson said, “there’s no
e-mail on this Web site.”

  “Right. Sometimes these guys will use disposable, untraceable e-mail accounts, where they keep rotating and dumping. A lot of times we can get them on that if they slip up in any of the steps getting those, but there is nothing on the Web site. Whoever this is, they don’t want anyone contacting them.”

  “So where are we at?” Frank asked.

  “Well, first we thought the guy, or perhaps lady, was running a Freenet node. Won’t go into all that, but basically that’s where you’ll find a lot of these child porn guys going. We’re still confirming, but it looks like what he’s done is selected a registrar and host that is out of our jurisdiction.”

  “Meaning,” Grayson said, “he’s gone to a foreign country.”

  “That’s right. Possibly China. My international contacts tell me that China’s hot for these kinds of things right now. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to bury his or her identity.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We’ll keep monitoring it, see if this guy makes a mistake. If this were a terrorist group, the CIA would get involved, send agents overseas, and hunt this provider down. Unfortunately, in this case, our hands are tied. This guy hasn’t sent any notes or threats, has he? to the paper or here at the station?”

  “No,” Grayson said.

  “Too bad. That’s usually where we can get someone like this.” Blanco got up. “I’ll keep an eye on this from my end, contact you if anything develops or we see a possible crack we can climb in. You might contact the National White Collar Crime Center. They might be able to help you with the international angle.”

  The captain stood, prompting Frank to. “Well, Gary, thanks for your time. We appreciate the state stepping in to help.”

  “Sure,” Blanco said. Frank offered his hand. “Best of luck to you guys. This is a little crazy. Never seen anything like it.”

  * * *

  Kay heard the back door open as she slid the chicken potpie casserole out of the oven. She’d spent the rest of the day taking her frustrations out by baking like a madwoman. Cakes. Cookies. Scones. And a casserole. She set it on the counter and turned just as Damien walked into the kitchen. She immediately noticed his somber body language. “Babe, you okay?”

  “Huh?”

  “You all right? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing, really,” he said, taking off his jacket. He pecked her on the cheek, then sat at the breakfast bar. “Just made Edgar mad today. Twice, actually.”

  “Not ‘you’re fired’ mad?”

  “No, nothing like that. He wanted me to write a piece on the kidnapping, and I did, but not the piece he wanted. I did it as an op-ed.”

  “Well, you are the op-ed writer.”

  “I felt like my words would serve a better purpose writing about the Web site. Trying to convince whoever is doing it to stop. I wrote a letter directly to the person.”

  “I know. I’m hearing that all kinds of terrible things are happening. Fights. Tires being slashed. Windows broken out. It’s like we’re on the verge of a riot. And then with this kidnapping . . .” Tears stung her eyes for the fortieth time that day.

  Damien hopped up and wrapped his arms around her. “You seem . . . sad.”

  “I’m just in disbelief that those girls were involved in taking Gabby. And I’m horrified at myself that I didn’t see the signs.”

  “How could you have known?” Damien asked, turning her around to face him.

  “It’s a mother’s instinct. Jenna kept trying to tell me she didn’t want to hang out . . .” More tears. Damien swiped them and pulled her close. “And I tried to . . . Anyway, I think we’re back to not speaking.” Kay wanted to pour out her heart, but she wasn’t sure how. She never dreamed of telling Damien about her past. She’d not even told him why she and Angela stopped being friends. She couldn’t get herself to.

  “How is she doing?”

  “She doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow either, but I told her she had to. She’s doing okay, I guess. We had a good morning together, anyway. Talked a lot.” Kay smiled at the thought. “Kind of like old times.”

  “Nothing like tragedy to bring people together.”

  “I just keep picturing . . . I see Jenna out there, tied to that tree . . .”

  Damien stroked her cheek. “Look, we’re all here. Everyone’s here, right? Hunter too?”

  Kay nodded.

  “We’re all here and safe and together.” He pointed to the casserole. “And chicken potpie casserole? You haven’t made that in a long time.”

  “It’s Jenna’s favorite.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Her cell phone rang. She answered it and went upstairs. Can you grab the butter out of the fridge?”

  He opened the door, digging beyond the yogurt and milk.

  “Oh, and Frank’s coming over. He just called. Wanted to have dinner here.”

  Damien emerged from the fridge with the butter as Kay poured the green beans into a bowl. “We’ve got to get Frank dating again.”

  “Good luck with that,” Kay said. She walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Time to eat!”

  The doorbell rang. Damien smiled. “Must be Frank, right on time.”

  Kay poured the water into glasses as she listened to the kids hurry down the stairs. She hadn’t heard that kind of enthusiasm for dinner in a while.

  Hunter arrived first, followed closely by Jenna. “Potpie casserole?” She grinned. “My favorite!”

  “Ugh. Did you put peas in it?” Hunter asked Kay.

  “Just a few.”

  Kay couldn’t keep her eyes off Jenna, who looked up again and offered another smile. Softer. As if there were a lot of good words behind those lips. Kay smiled back and continued serving while holding back a few tears that wanted to escape out of sheer relief her daughter didn’t hate her.

  Damien rounded the corner, followed by Frank.

  “Hey, Uncle Frank!” Hunter stood to give him a sideways hug.

  “Hey, gang,” Frank said, plopping down in his usual chair. “Thanks for feeding me.”

  Kay set a plate in front of him. “You look exhausted.”

  “Yeah. Long day.”

  Hunter asked, “Have they arrested the girls?”

  Kay started the casserole around. “Let’s not talk about that tonight.”

  “It’s okay,” Jenna said, grabbing a roll. “Not talking about it doesn’t make it go away. A wise uncle told me that.” She smiled at Frank.

  Kay nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “No charges have been filed yet. But they’re coming. The DA has to put the case together, but we’ve got more than enough evidence.”

  Frank served himself the casserole, but Kay noticed he wasn’t eating. Normally he just started digging in.

  “Frank? Not hungry?” Kay passed him the green beans.

  “Well,” Frank said, “there is another reason I’m here.”

  Kay followed his gaze. He was staring at Jenna. Kay set down her fork. An uneasiness swirled in her stomach.

  “With Jenna’s permission, I’d like to tell you something,” Frank said, his voice way softer than normal.

  Jenna and Frank exchanged a glance.

  Kay looked at Damien, whose mouth had frozen midchew. Their eyes met, and Kay read fear. She knew that fear. It was coursing through her own body. What was Frank talking about? Was Jenna involved in the kidnapping somehow? She glanced at Jenna, who just stared at her plate.

  “What is it?” Kay asked, trying to keep her voice steady and calm.

  Frank held out a hand. “Relax. It’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

  Kay sat up straighter, tried to prepare herself for whatever she was about to hear.

  “You know we found Gabby last night. The reason we found her in time is because a very brave person tipped off police. And that brave person was your daughter.”

  A small whimper of relief escaped Kay.

  Jenna glanced up,
her eyes searching everybody for a reaction.

  Damien reached for Jenna’s hand and looked at Frank. “Jenna?”

  “Jenna knew something was going down. She didn’t have details, but her gut told her that those girls were involved. She alerted me to what was going on, where she thought Gabby might be. Turned out she was right.”

  “But Jenna was upstairs in her room asleep that night,” Kay said.

  Jenna smiled weakly. “I kind of snuck out to meet Frank. Sorry.”

  Kay took a deep breath as she sorted through it all in her head.

  “Sweetie,” Damien said, “why haven’t you told us any of this?”

  “I didn’t think . . .” Jenna shook her head and looked down. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

  Damien started to say something, but Kay held up her hand. “She’s right. We haven’t been listening, have we, Jenna?”

  “It’s okay. It’s just what I needed to do.”

  “She’s a hero,” Frank said. “She saved Gabby’s life.”

  Hunter reached over and patted her on the back. “Way to go, Sis.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled at her brother like she used to when they were young.

  “Jenna,” Frank said, “why don’t you tell your parents the rest?”

  “The rest?” Kay asked.

  Jenna pressed her lips together and took several seconds before she said, “Once the girls are charged, I might be called as a witness.” She glanced back and forth between Kay and Damien. “I want to do it. I’m not scared.”

  “Scared of what?” Damien asked Frank.

  “There could be some retribution at school. But we’ll keep Jenna’s name out of it as long as possible. In fact, this thing probably won’t even go to trial until next year. A lot of emotion will have passed by then, so I don’t anticipate any problems. The DA and the department understand the sensitivity of the situation.”

  “A lot of people are upset; that’s all,” Jenna said. “I mean, this is hard to take.”

  Kay kept nodding with each statement, trying her best to understand that Jenna’s heroic move would not be viewed as heroic by everyone. What had this world come to? She saved a life and now feared for her own?

  “There’s a chance the DA might not need her testimony at all. We have confessions from both girls, so they’ll probably enter guilty pleas and be turned over to the court to decide what to do with them.”