“Good question,” he said. “Probably never.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bill didn’t like to get his hands dirty. That was why he always used the children. It kept him nice and distant, and if the children were ever caught breaking and entering, he could throw up his hands and insist that he’d tried as hard as he could to keep tabs on them, but children would be children, and there wasn’t a lot he could do about kids who’d been born among criminals—except love them and show them compassion and hope that some good would rub off on them.
Sure, Bill had compassion. So much compassion that he really wished he could see the look on Beth and Jimmy’s faces as they opened the cigar box he was “doctoring” for them.
“Know what this is, darlin’?” he asked Lisa, gesturing toward the cigar box open on the desk before him.
“No, sir.”
“It’s a little package we’re sending to a friend,” he said. “A friend who’s been real good to me. And I’m gonna let you deliver it for me.”
She didn’t say anything, just sat in the corner, trying hard not to move.
He set the explosives in carefully, then rigged up the detonator caps so that the bomb would go off the moment the box was opened. He’d never done this before, actually, but he’d read all about it in articles on the Internet about the Unabomber. It was no secret, and he and some of his partners had discussed the precise methods more than once. He couldn’t believe how perfectly this would work out—except that those two traitors wouldn’t get this little present until tomorrow, which could be a problem if Beth finished her story and turned it in to her editor before that. In that case, he’d have to make sure the newspaper didn’t get his story out by then. In any event, if there were any questions about Bill’s involvement in the explosion, he would be able to prove that he was miles away when the explosion occurred.
He closed the box carefully and wrapped it, then addressed it to Beth Wright and affixed an Express Mail waybill.
“You ready to deliver this for me, darlin’?”
Lisa hesitated. “Where?”
“The post office. You’re big enough to take something in by yourself, aren’t you? You don’t even have to talk to anybody. Just drop it in the slot, and my friend will have it by tomorrow.”
She nodded.
“If you do a good job, Lisa, honey, I’ll give you a more important job, like the kind I gave Jimmy. And if you do a bad job . . . well . . .” He propped his chin on his hand and smiled. “Remember that time Jimmy had to stay in bed for two days because he couldn’t walk so good? Remember those bruises?”
She seemed frozen.
“Well, just don’t do a bad job, darlin’.” He took the package and her hand and led her out to his pickup. He’d parked his Buick in a toolshed at the back of the property; even a stupid cop would be able to match the dents and paint scratches on it to the marks on Beth’s car, so he didn’t plan to drive it until some of his staff had painted it.
Across the lawn, he saw Nick coming out of one of the cottages—and heading toward him.
He cursed. “Get in, Lisa, and put the package under the seat.”
She did as she was told, and Bill closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “You about finished snooping, Nick?” he asked in a pseudo-jovial voice.
“Maybe,” Nick said. “I just wondered where you’re taking her.”
“To a birthday party,” he said. “One of her little friends at school. Don’t think a kid should miss all the fun just because they’re wards of the state, do you?”
Nick looked down at the little girl, and Bill wondered if he knew who she was. He wished she didn’t look quite so fragile. “She’s a little worried ’cause she’s late. I clean forgot about it, but no harm done. She’ll get there before they blow out the candles if we hurry.”
Nick backed away from the truck. Bill could see that he was trying to think of a way to detain him. What was Nick up to?
“When will you be back, Bill? I want to talk to you.”
“Won’t be long. Haven’t we talked enough? Don’t you have something constructive to do? The state isn’t paying you to hang around here all day, are they?”
Nick wasn’t intimidated. “Get somebody else to take her, Bill. I’m not finished with you.”
Bill groaned and got out of the truck. “All right, hold on. I’ll get Stella, but I’ll have to make sure somebody’s watching the kids before she comes.” He looked at Lisa with an apologetic face.
“Sugar, you’re gonna be a little bit late, but we’ll get you there somehow.”
Lisa looked perplexed.
He helped Lisa out of the truck and took her into his office to make sure that Nick didn’t speak privately with her. He called over to Cottage B. “Stella, I need you to come run an errand for me. If you run into Nick, tell him that you’re taking Lisa to a birthday party, but don’t mention her name. Call her Susan. He might know about Jimmy, and her name might ring a bell.”
“Doesn’t he already know her?”
“It’s been three years since he’s dealt with either of them. He won’t remember.”
“Where am I really going?” she asked.
“To the post office. Drop Lisa off at the corner and let her put the package in the ‘express’ slot.”
“Is Lisa going to be one of your regulars now?” she asked.
“Isn’t she a little young?”
“She’s perfect. Just get over here. And don’t botch this up.
I’ve had enough problems lately, and I’m not in a good mood. If you mess this up, everything could blow up in our faces.”
He hung up and took in a deep breath. “If that man asks your name, you tell him it’s Susan. Do you hear me?”
Lisa nodded, her eyes big.
“You put the package in the Express Mail slot, and if anyone asks you what it is, you say it’s a book for your grandma. Got it?”
She nodded.
“Just do as I say, and when you get back, I’ll have a surprise for you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Will Jimmy be home then?”
He decided he might need that leverage. “He might just be, darlin’.”
He led her back outside as Stella hurried across the lawn. “Come on, sugar. Let’s get you to that party.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Beth sat back in her squeaky desk chair and sighed. Her article was finished—complete with the quotes by Marlene and Jimmy, along with the sad and suggestive news that Marlene had been murdered immediately after giving the interview. She wished she had another hour to tweak it, but she sensed that time was tight. Sitting forward again, she sent it by modem into the paper, then e-mailed her editor to look for it and call her back. As an afterthought, she electronically transferred the transcribed conversation with Marlene so that it would be on file at the newspaper office.
She went downstairs. Jimmy and the puppy were lying on the area rug in front of the television, curled up together as if they were old friends. She stepped around them and saw that they were both sound asleep.
She smiled. How exhausted Jimmy must be, after spending the night in terror in the attic.
The telephone rang, and she snapped it up. “Hello?”
“Beth, I got your article.” It was Phil, her editor.
“Read it yet?”
“Yep. Interesting. Very interesting. Sure is going to cause a big stir.”
“Phil, this is headline material. You’ll print it in the Saturday edition tomorrow, won’t you?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know, Beth. I’m a little reluctant.”
“Why?” she asked. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I’d like a few more quotes. The only two people quoted are a dead woman and a little kid who might just have a vivid imagination.”
“Was it my imagination that the kid broke into my house last night, Phil? I didn’t make that up. He’s here now.”
“Still, I’d feel better if you could get
another quote or two. Somebody who’s not dead or a juvenile delinquent.”
“Juvenile delinquent? How do you figure that?”
“Hey, don’t get defensive. I’m just pointing out how it’s going to look to a skeptical public. He did break into your house.”
“Didn’t you read the article? He was forced to. And Marlene’s dead because of the article.”
“The kid’s story is suspect, Beth. Sorry, but that’s the truth. And you say the woman died because of your interview; the police haven’t concluded that yet. We need more. Maybe you can find someone who grew up in Brandon’s home, someone who’s not under his thumb anymore. Maybe they’d be willing to talk. That would be just what we need. And call the police stations in all of the towns within a two-hour radius. Find out how often there was evidence that kids had done it. You know, fingerprints, footprints, maybe they saw them but didn’t catch them, that sort of thing.”
She closed her eyes and started to feel sick. “If I compiled all that today, Phil, would you print it tomorrow? It’s crucial. This whole thing is taking on a life of its own. Something has to be done with Jimmy, and he’s worried about his little sister—with good reason—but we can’t get the kids out of there until there’s enough evidence. But if I turn him over to the police, he may suffer instead of Bill Brandon—”
“Yes, Beth,” Phil cut in. “Get me what I asked for and I’ll run it. You have my word.”
She let out a heavy breath and dropped the phone in its cradle. What was she going to do?
She closed her eyes and asked herself if she had the guts to do what was necessary. The right thing never seemed that easy, and it had an awful lot of conditions attached.
But she had spent the last three years trying to make something of herself. She had found a church, and now she went every Sunday. She tried hard to live by the Ten Commandments—don’t lie, don’t covet, don’t commit adultery. In fact, some people thought she followed God’s laws to a fault, but she figured she had enough sin in her life that it would take fifty years of walking the straight and narrow to get to the point where she’d come close to making herself worthy of God.
But this was hard. Writing this story Phil’s way meant digging deeper than she’d wanted to dig, exposing things she hadn’t wanted exposed . . .
And it meant that she would need advice about the law.
She picked up the phone and dialed the number of Lynda Barrett’s law office. Lynda, a devoted Christian and respected lawyer, was one of the teachers in Beth’s Sunday school class.Maybe she could help.
Paige, Lynda’s secretary and another friend from church, put Beth right through to Lynda.
“Hi, Beth. What’s up?”
“Hi, Lynda. Uh . . . I’m sorry to bother you. I just . . . I wondered if you could come by and see me today. It’s pretty important.
I need some advice, and I need it quickly.”
“Legal advice?”
“Yes. It has to do with a story I’m working on. It involves a little boy. I’d rather tell you about it in person, if you have time, and I’d rather not come there.”
“I could come right now. I was supposed to be in court this afternoon, but it was postponed, so I’m free.”
“Great. Oh, and bring Jake if you want. My little friend might like to meet him. Kids love pilots.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Stella let the truck idle at the corner near the post office. “All right, Lisa. Take the package and go. Put it in the Express Mail slot. Then hurry back to the truck. Try not to talk to anybody.”
Lisa got the package from under the seat. It was S heavier than it looked, but she dared not complain. She got out of the pickup, clutching the package against her chest, and backed into the door to close it.
Walking rapidly, she hurried toward the post office door. Shifting the package to one arm, she tried to open the door, but it was heavy and she almost dropped it.
A man came to the door and opened it for her. “There you go, honey.”
“Thank you,” she said almost inaudibly. She stood inside the post office, looking around at the boxes and stamp vending machines and slots. Through some glass doors were the postal workers, and a dozen people waited in line.
The package was getting heavier, so she shifted it again, trying to get a more comfortable hold on it. Stella had said to put it in a slot. She saw the slots marked “local” and “stamped” and “metered.” He’d said to put it in Express Mail, but she didn’t see that one.
It was too heavy for her to hold any longer, so she went to the “metered” slot and tried to fit it through the small opening. It wouldn’t fit.
“That’s not where you want to put that, pumpkin,” one of the postal workers walking through told her. “That’ll have to go in Express Mail over there.”
“Oh.” She headed across the room to where he pointed, and looked up at the lever, which was too high for her.
“Here, sweetheart, I’ll get it,” the postman said. He opened the small door and took the package from her. The weight surprised him. “Boy, this is heavy. Whatcha got in here, anyway?”
She tried to speak, but her voice wouldn’t come. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “A book for my grandma,” she said just under her breath.
He smiled and let the door close. “I’ll just take it on back, pumpkin.”
She only stood staring at him for a moment, not sure what to do. Finally, she decided she’d better get back to the car before Stella left her. “Thank you,” she said again, and walked quickly to the door.
Stella was still waiting at the corner. Lisa ran up the sidewalk and climbed into the pickup. “What took you so long?” Stella demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, did you put the package in the Express Mail slot?”
Lisa thought of telling her about the man, but a dread came over her that she might be punished for giving the package to him.
“Yes,” she said.
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“No.”
Stella breathed out a sigh of relief as she turned the corner and headed back to the home. After a moment, she muttered, “I oughta get hazard pay for this.”
Lisa turned around and looked out the back window, wondering if the man had really mailed the package, or if he’d opened it and looked inside. She hoped it wasn’t anything too awful.
She sat back down and tried to console herself with the thought that Jimmy might be back when she returned to the home. Wouldn’t he be proud that she was smart enough to work for Bill now, too?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Beth poured two cups of coffee and brought them to the table where Lynda sat, filling in the notes she had made as Beth told her of the allegations she was about to make concerning the home, and what Jimmy’s part had been in it. As Jimmy and Jake sat on the floor playing with the puppy, Beth quietly popped the question she had been waiting to ask.
“I wondered, Lynda, what kind of responsibility Jimmy and the other kids who’ve worked in Bill Brandon’s crime ring will have. In other words, are they accountable for something they were forced to do?”
“You mean, can they be prosecuted?” Lynda asked.
Jimmy looked up, and she knew he’d overheard. She wished she hadn’t asked.
“Well, breaking and entering is definitely a crime,” Lynda said, “and under ordinary circumstances, a child Jimmy’s age who committed a crime like that would be sent to the detention center, depending on the judge’s disposition and the number of offenses against the child. But these are extenuating circumstances, and I find it hard to believe that any judge or jury would blame Jimmy or the other kids for being victims of Brandon’s control.”
Beth looked down at the coffee cup in her hand. “There’s someone I know, who I might try to interview. She’s someone who was in Brandon’s home a few years ago. She’s an adult now, and I’m hoping she’ll corroborate what I’ve already uncovered. But she might be worried that she’ll be
prosecuted if she confesses. Would she?”
“Well, that depends. How old was she when she stopped committing the crimes?”
“Eighteen. She stopped when she left the home.”
Lynda blew out a breath, and shook her head. “That’s a tough one. A jury might say that she was old enough to know right from wrong.”
“But if she’d been doing it since she was ten, and she was scared to death of him, and she knew that she had no choice but to do everything he said . . .”
“It would depend on her lawyer, Beth, and what kind of case he laid out.”
“But you think she would need a lawyer? That there would be charges against her? Isn’t the statute of limitations in Florida three years?”
“Well, yes. Has it been longer than that?”
“Just barely,” Beth said. “Does that means she’d be clear?”
“Yes, she would. But any of those legal adults who stole for Bill within that three-year period would be at the judge’s mercy.”
“What about loopholes? Is there any way they could ignore the statute of limitations and prosecute her anyway?”
“It’s possible that they could get her for something else.
Something like withholding evidence or aiding and abetting.”
“But she hasn’t aided or abetted. Not since she left the home.”
“Still, just by keeping her mouth shut she was allowing the crimes to go on.”
“But that isn’t fair! How much can someone be accountable when they’ve never had free will? When their every thought has been controlled by that man? When they’re totally dependent on him for food and clothing and shelter, and they’re afraid of his discipline if they don’t do what he asks?”
“It may not be fair, Beth, but that’s the justice system.”
“ Well, if that’s the case, then it wouldn’t be worth her while to talk, would it? Anyone would be better off keeping their mouth shut, even if they were outside the statute of limitations. And even then their reputation could be ruined—future job opportunities, credit, housing . . .”
“Technically, yes. But there’s a moral issue that might outweigh all that,” Lynda said. “There are children being abused and warped. Without someone stepping forward, it’ll never end. Is it