The Stolen hp-3

by Jason Pinter

The money trail was there. A spot-check of Gray Talbot's campaign finance reports showed a yearly influx of

  $50,000 dollars from a company called Shepherd Incorporated. Shepherd was owned by Reggie Powers, a shell company set up separately from Powers Construction.

  Yearly withdrawals from Shepherd, Inc. were being matched to Gray Talbot. And everyone knew what they would tell us.

  Finally the story came together. Several of the players,

  I knew, had to believe the bullshit Gray Talbot was spewing. Several of them had to feel that what they were doing was right. That to destroy evil, you had to commit evil. That getting your cause noticed was justification for it all.

  It was easy to be cynical. Both Amanda and I came from broken homes, where we could never believe a parent would go to such lengths to allegedly protect us.

  Gray Talbot hired Raymond Benjamin to be his eyes, his ears, his gun. All orders went through Benjamin, nothing went to Gray. Benjamin was his wall of protection.

  Benjamin, a Hobbs County native, approached Dmitri Petrovsky in order to obtain hospital records of infants born with childhood diabetes. They screened children who would be most susceptible to Korsakoff syndrome.

  Once Petrovsky came back with a name, a plan was put in motion.

  The child would be kidnapped. Petrovsky would develop a nutritional plan that would keep the child's thiamine levels at a level dangerous enough to cause minor brain damage, enough to bring an onset of Korsakoff, but not so severe that it would endanger the child's life.

  When the child was gone, when the police search turned up fruitless, that's when Gray Talbot stepped in. He would trumpet his concern for the welfare of the community. Talk about how crime rates were unacceptable. That children were being snatched from their families.

  Millions of dollars would be pumped into the communities through donations, federal and state funding. Police forces would be bolstered. Neighborhood watches on patrol. Broken streetlights fixed. Homes made safe again.

  And real estate would slowly creep up.

  That's when Talbot would enlist the help of Powers

  Construction. Reggie would come in with his trucks and his men, level the homes consumed by crack, rebuild houses that would attract more money than the neighborhood had ever seen.

  Talbot would gain a wealthier, more affluent constituency. Powers would make millions from the sweetheart deals. And the communities would be better off.

  Everybody won.

  Except the children.

  Amanda sat in the seat next to me, the radio turned to a soft rock station. The music they played was unthreatening, wouldn't offend any sensibilities, lyrics that couldn't harm a fly. That's all we wanted at that moment. Serenity.

  Emotionlessness.

  The next few hours would be difficult. We didn't want it to start until it absolutely had to.

  After I'd gone on record with the police, handed over my cell phone and explained everything that had happened, I called Amanda immediately. I told her what we had to do. I wasn't sure how the night was going to end, but if we didn't ask that one final question, I didn't know if I'd ever sleep again.

  I steered the car, unable to help but think about Danny

  Linwood, how in some ways we both had lost years from our childhood. The difference was I had a choice. My memories and experiences helped mold me into what I was now. Danny would need time, years perhaps, to even know who he was.

  We arrived at the house shortly past ten o'clock. The porch lights were out. The street was dim save a few lampposts. Turning the engine off, I walked up to one, felt the metal, inspected it. It was well cared for. No graffiti. No damage. It was doing its duty without any interference.

  Illuminating a world that was, for better or worse, now a safer place.

  "You think they're asleep?" Amanda asked.

  "No way. At that age I fought tooth and nail for every extra minute. I'd sneak an AM/FM radio into bed so I could listen to ball games, maybe a book and a flashlight.

  I hope kids haven't outgrown that."

  "Not outgrown it," she said. "They just have more options now. Portable video games, iPods, televisions the size of a quarter. It's a miracle they don't spend half their time choosing which one to watch."

  We stepped up to the porch. I saw the wind chimes again. In a moment they'd be ringing their tune.

  I pressed the doorbell, heard a chime go off inside the house. There were footsteps, a woman's voice shouting something. Then the screen door opened, and Shelly

  Linwood was standing right in front of us.

  She was wearing a terry-cloth bathrobe, her hair done up in rollers. I saw a child run past behind her. Tasha, if I remembered correctly.

  "Henry? Henry Parker?" she said, unsure of what to make of this late-night visit.

  "Mrs. Linwood," I said. "I need a minute of your time."

  "I was just doing my hair," she said. She looked eager to get back to that, but the look on my face told her we weren't leaving anytime soon. Resignedly, she said, "Come on in."

  She held the door open for us, and we walked inside.

  "Mrs. Linwood, this is Amanda Davies. She works for the New York Legal Aid Society. She's a good friend of mine, and I just thought it would be good for her to meet

  Danny. Danny might have some questions she can answer.

  And if not, he'll make a new friend."

  I saw a mop of hair peek from behind a doorway.

  Shelley turned around, said, "Danny, come in here. You remember Henry, right?"

  Daniel Linwood tentatively stepped into the room. He'd gained a few pounds since I last saw him, his hair a little longer. His eyes seemed more frightened, his gait more awkward.

  "Danny," I said. "This is Amanda."

  She stepped forward, knelt down slightly so she was at his level.

  "Hey there," she said. "I'm Amanda. Mind if we chat for a bit? I'd love to see your room."

  "Show her your Xbox," Shelly said. Danny nodded reluctantly, led Amanda past us and up the stairs.

  "Can we sit?" I said. Shelly nodded.

  We went into the living room, sat on the same couch where I'd interviewed Danny not too long ago.

  "How is he?" I asked.

  Shelly sighed, scratched her neck.

  "I get a call from his school almost every day. Kids picking on him. Giving him wedgies. Stealing his lunch money. It wasn't like this before."

  "He's a different person now," I said. "It's going to take a long time for him to find himself."

  "I know," she said. "God, I know."

  "Mrs. Linwood," I said. "I want you to hear this from me. And only from me. I want you to know what I know."

  She looked up, her eyes big and brown and watery. "Yes?"

  "You knew about Daniel's kidnapping. You knew it was going to happen. You knew he would be taken. And you probably told them when they could do it. Know that

  I know. Because you'll have to live with that. Live with everyone knowing what you did."

  Her mouth fell open. She stared at me, shaking her head, openmouthed.

  "No," she said. "My Danny, I didn't-"

  "Shelly," I said. "You've been lying too long. I know why you did it. I know you met Raymond Benjamin."

  Shelly just sat there, her lower lip trembling.

  "When I spoke to Danny, you even brought him a tray of food. Vegetables that would help replenish the thiamine levels that were so low in his brain. Food high in vitamin

  B1. Did Petrovsky tell you to do that?"

  Shelly sat there, stone silent.

  "Did he come to your house? Raymond Benjamin."

  She continued to stare, then a tear streaked down her cheek as she nodded.

  "Yes," she said.

  "What did he say?"

  "He told me," Shelly said, sucking in air and wiping her face, "that this town was tearing itself apart. That he'd grown up here, and there were only two options for boys

  Danny and James's age. Prison or the grav
e. Raymond said he'd been to prison, but that's only because he got caught."

  "And he offered you a deal," I said. "Right? He would take Danny away for a few years. He would be gone, but he would be safe. And by doing that you would give your children a chance to grow up in a neighborhood where they'd be safe. Where they could make something of themselves."

  Shelly nodded. Then she stood up. Went over to the mantel, and took down a framed photograph. She handed it to me.

  It was an odd picture. I'd noticed it during my interview with Daniel. And now I thought about the photo I found in Robert Reed's wallet and it all made sense.

  The photo was of Shelly's younger son, James. The shot had been taken from about five feet behind him. He was wearing a knapsack, baggy jeans. He was unaware of the photographer.

  I turned the frame over and removed the knobs that held it in place. When the backing came off, the back of the photo was visible. One word was printed on it.

  Remember.

  "Raymond Benjamin gave that photo to me," she said.

  "He told me he'd taken it himself. He said if he could get that close to James, others could, too. People who meant him more harm than he did. He said it was a fair trade. A few years of Daniel's life would guarantee the safety of my whole family forever. Daniel would, in a way, be a hero. I never understood how my son could be a hero giving his life for a cause he didn't understand or even know about. I just wanted to believe in some way he was doing it for the future of James and Tasha. And he said that anytime I began to doubt myself or what I'd done, to look at that photo and remember what could happen to the rest of my family."

  "What did you do, Shelly?" I asked.

  Shelly began to weep. She held her head in her hands.

  I felt a modicum of remorse for this woman, but it soon went away.

  "I told Benjamin the route Danny took to get home from practice," she said. "Six-thirty every night. I made him promise not to hurt my baby. He told me he wouldn't."

  "What else did Benjamin say?"

  "He promised me a family would take care of him.

  They knew about his diabetes and they would care for him," Shelly said through bloodshot eyes. "And I believed him. At least I wanted to. I needed to know my babies could grow up and lead full lives. I've seen what this town can do to people. I wanted my sons to have something better."

  "Is that what Danny has now?" I asked. "Something better?"

  "I don't know," she said. "But if he can get out of here and ends up in a safe office, making money, starting a family instead of rotting behind bars or in the dirt, then yes.

  He has something better. I know you can't possibly understand that, Henry. Wanting your child to not just survive but live a life. Maybe one day you will. But you can't right now."

  "No," I said. "I can't."

  45

  I woke up the next morning, pleasantly surprised that sleep had come so easily. I think it was more due to the complete lack of energy in every one of my muscles, the utter exhaustion I felt, than any sort of blissful conscience.

  As soon as we returned from the Linwood residence,

  I'd gone straight to the Gazette to write up my story.

  Amanda had given me a long, deep hug, and for the first time since we'd started speaking again, a hug was all I wanted.

  The story was difficult to write. That so many people had been so deceitful, purposefully putting so many lives at risk, it was hard to fathom how any of them could have felt they were doing the right thing. I heard over the wire that the police had apprehended Robert and Elaine Reed in a suburb just outside Chicago. Caroline Twomey was in the process of being returned to her family. The police had reopened the kidnappings of both Danny Linwood and

  Michelle Oliveira. They still didn't know who kidnapped them, and they believed Gray Talbot had inoculated himself from that knowledge. It was Ray Benjamin who was the button man. And Gray had killed him to seal off the investigation. There was a chance those families who

  held the children would never be found, never be prosecuted. We got lucky with Daniel Linwood.

  The Reeds were found at a hotel outside Chicago.

  They'd driven halfway across the country after fleeing

  Harrisburg. The manager became suspicious when all of the family's credit cards were declined, and Elaine Reed attempted to use an expired driver's license as identification.

  They claimed, like Shelly Linwood, that they were doing it to protect their son, Patrick. That Benjamin had threatened them, as well. And now Patrick would likely spend most of his childhood in foster care, and his parents would have to deal with the legal ramifications of what they'd done.

  The children's lives would go on. But they would never be the same.

  It's always the innocent who are forced to suffer.

  Like Shelly said, maybe in a few years I would understand. When I had a family of my own, children I would do anything to protect, maybe that kind of sacrifice would feel justified.

  But not right now.

  I looked forward to seeing the paper, so when I rolled out of bed the first thing I did was go to the front door to get my morning delivery.

  My neighbor down the hall, the lovely Ms. Berry, all eighty nightgowned years of her, must have been thrilled to see me standing there topless in my boxers. I waved hello. She retreated back inside. Maybe she wasn't so thrilled.

  I took the paper inside, laid it on the table and read.

  When I was through, my emotions were mixed. I was happy with the story, but not the outcome. All I could say is that Gray Talbot's operation would be shut down, and the man would certainly spend years behind bars.

  Caroline Twomey was returned to her family. It remained to be seen what would happen to her parents. I assumed they were accessories, like the Linwoods. And it was only a matter of time before the Oliveira case was reopened, as well.

  So many lives shattered by greed and fear. And I still wasn't quite sure who the villains were.

  I took a hot shower, feeling like a year's worth of crud had built up, caked my skin an inch thick. I let the water run in and out of my mouth, felt the steam coat my face.

  It felt good.

  When I washed up, I packed the paper, got my stuff together and headed to the newsroom. Though the story was a difficult one for me to write, I knew Wallace and the crew would be thrilled. It was a huge get, the kind of story that would not just have people talking today, but would ripple for months if not years. It made me glad that Wallace would be proud. Though I secretly hoped Jack would be, too. I still resented what he'd done to himself, resented that he might have jeopardized his legacy, but his validation meant more to me than he likely knew.

  I took the train down to Rockefeller Plaza, remembering I'd have to return the rental later that day.

  The plaza was already crowded by the time I walked over. Tourists were perched on the benches, taking pictures of the grandness of the area. People stood outside the shops waiting for that first door to be cracked open.

  I'd never been much of a sightseer when I was younger.

  Wonders never really amazed me like they did most folk.

  I chalked it up to my profession, where everything had to come with some sense of detachment. If you got too personally involved in a story, it could come back to haunt you in more ways than you could imagine. I thought about my last few major stories, beginning with being sought for a murder charge a few years ago, to hunting William Henry

  Roberts after that. And now, with Gray Talbot behind bars and the lives of several families never to be the same, I wondered if I'd mistakenly forgotten all that. If I'd gotten too close, whether by chance or by choice.

  Once this was over I wanted to step back, reevaluate my situation. I loved my job, and that wouldn't change until they dragged me out of the newsroom, kicking and screaming while I tried to beat off Security with a legal notepad. There was room to grow. Personally and professionally. And with all the time spent chasing murderers, liars and pol
iticians (who managed to encompass both), it was time to take stock.

  The wall clock read 9:05 when the elevator opened on to the newsroom floor. I expected some sort of jubilation, maybe a pat on the back or two. I'd cracked a huge case that would have ramifications potentially all the way to the top. A man considered a potential front-runner for the biggest job in the land would now be spending at least eight years behind bars. There was something sad about ruining a career. Ending a life. And I wondered where

  Hobbs County would be today if Gray Talbot had never thought of a boy named Daniel Linwood.

  I walked to my desk looking for my colleagues, looking out for Wallace. The pride quickly turned to fear when I noticed all the reporters were sitting at their desks. They were silent. Their faces ashen gray. Some were at work, but it was perfunctory.

  Evelyn Waterstone passed by. She gazed up at me for a moment, her mouth opening. For the first time I could

  Jason Pinter remember, Evelyn Waterstone looked sad. She said two words to me, "Sorry, Parker," and walked on.

  I didn't know what to do, but something had bitten the newsroom of the New York Gazette. I had to find out. The only person who didn't look like they were drowning in their own sorrows was Frank Rourke.

  There was no love lost between Frank Rourke and me.

  We'd had a pretty intense falling-out over the shit bag incident last year, and since then never really attempted to patch things up. I never felt the need to gain his approval.

  My work would accomplish that in my stead.

  Rourke was yapping away on his desk phone-something about preseason football-so I walked over when he hung up and stood over his desk, waiting to hear what he said.

  Rourke didn't notice me at first. He just sat there drinking coffee out of a Thermos the size of my head.

  Then when he turned around and saw me standing there, the smile disappeared. My stomach dropped when I realized he had the same look on his face Evelyn had minutes earlier.

  "Parker," he said. "Listen, man…I don't know what else to say. But I'm sorry. This sucks majorly."

  "What does?" I said. "I just got here, please, everyone else looks like they have one foot in the grave."