by Wanda Dyson
“Not. . .at you.”
“At me. I was making a fool out of myself with all that macho garbage and you knew it. Then suddenly you were being stalked and it wasn’t your imagination and I couldn’t blow it off. And you wouldn’t look at me like a superhero. You turned around and taunted Matthews and I wanted to strangle you.”
“Because you. . .didn’t know. . .if you could. . .protect me.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“But. . .you did. You’re a. . .good cop, JJ. Just have to. . .be you.”
“I’m not sure I know who I am.”
“When you figure it. . .out, let me know.”
He smiled again. “Somehow I think you already know and I’m the only one who doesn’t.”
Zoe closed her eyes as his voice drifted over her. Her throat hurt worse. She’d talked too much.
The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor made her open her eyes again. JJ was standing up.
“I’ve stayed too long. You need your rest. I just wanted to check in and see that you were okay.”
“I’m. . .okay. Thanks to. . .you.”
He frowned at her again and she smiled up at him. Typical male. If he doesn’t control the situation, he pouts like a child. Get used to it, JJ. I think God’s getting ready to take over your life.
“I’d best be going. I’ll. . .um. . .check in on you again.”
She nodded. “You’d. . .better.”
She saw it then—just a glimmer of a smile in his eyes as he turned and walked toward the door. He pulled the door open, stopped, and looked at her. “I think I like you this way.”
Rather than asking, she tilted her head and let her eyes ask.
He grinned at her. “Unable to talk.” Then he hurried out the door, letting it close behind him before she could retort. Or find something to throw at him.
#
Donnie Bevere stepped off the plane at Dulles International Airport and walked with Fleming to the baggage claim. After picking up their bags, they separated with few words and grabbed their respective cabs home.
Donnie didn’t talk much about his private life with Fleming or anyone else at work. He preferred not to bring his work home, and his home wasn’t something he wanted to share at work. Keeping them separate kept him sane.
Somewhere along the line, he had given his coworkers the impression that he dated a different woman every night and never took any of them seriously. He didn’t know how or why they’d gotten that impression, but they had him tagged as a womanizer.
He never bothered to dispel that notion. It amused him.
The cab pulled up in front of the little cookie-cutter house, and he climbed out after paying the driver. Lugging his suitcase up the front walk, Donnie Bevere smiled. The grass needed to be mowed, the hedges needed to be trimmed, and the kid next door had left his football in the front yard again.
Donnie set down his suitcase, picked up the football, and tossed it back over the fence. It was good to be home.
He pulled out his keys and opened the front door.
“Daddy!”
A blond dervish came at him full bore. He dropped his suitcase, grabbed the whirlwind, and tossed her high into the air. “Hey, darlin’. Miss me?”
“Yep!” She nodded vigorously, her blond curls bobbing around her face.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Right here.” Her voice was soft and warm and wrapped itself around him. He turned, setting his daughter on his hip while reaching for his wife.
“I missed you like crazy.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “And how is my son?”
She rubbed a hand over her swollen belly and laughed. “Kicking up a storm. Mandy was never this active.”
“She waited until she was here to raise a ruckus.”
“Truth.”
He set Mandy down and the three-year-old went running off. He wrapped both arms around Lisbeth and brought his nose down to hers. “Guess what I did.”
“Uh-oh,” she replied with a cautious laugh. “There’s no telling when it comes to you. What did you do?”
“Helped a guy get engaged.”
Lisbeth tossed back her head and laughed brightly. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me there’s another woman out there who got the full-page ad and silver platter routine!”
chapter 35
Monday, May 15
Karen hesitated at the polished oak door, wanting to be anywhere but here. Cold sweat trickled down her sides as she clutched her purse in her hands and tried to take deep, calming breaths.
“It’ll be okay,” Rene assured her, reaching out to squeeze Karen’s hand.
“I’m not so sure, Rene. How do I look him in the face?”
“You don’t have to. Look at the judge. At the district attorney. At me. You don’t have to look at him. Karen, you don’t even have to be here.”
“Yes, I do.”
Someone brushed past them, opening the door and hurrying inside. Rene pushed her forward. “Come on. It’s almost time.”
Karen felt like she was dragging concrete blocks by her ankles as she entered the courtroom and followed Rene to a front-row seat. She wanted to scream at Rene to take her to the back row. Or back home.
Suddenly she was sitting and a guard was rolling Ted into the courtroom. She slowly lifted her eyes to look at him, holding her breath. His hands were cuffed and lying in his lap. He was thinner, almost gaunt, his hair curling wildly. He wore an orange county prison jumpsuit but held his head high, as if he were entering the courtroom wearing one of his Brooks Brothers’ suits.
His eyes caught hers, and she felt her breath leave her in a rush, as if he’d reached out and punched her in the chest. His lips curled in a sneer, and then he looked back at the guard.
“All stand.”
All but Ted came to their feet in a rustle of movement and hushed whispers. “The Honorable Willard T. Hooper, now presiding.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Karen studied Ted sitting next to his attorney. He seemed so confident. So assured. A condescending smile on his face, he seemed amused to be playing yet another round of his sick game.
Suddenly the district attorney was standing and addressing the judge. Karen pulled her eyes away to listen to him.
“Yes, your Honor. An agreement was reached.”
Agreement? Karen felt a cold chill. She reached for Rene’s hand.
The judge fiddled with his glasses as he shuffled the papers in front of him. Then he looked down at Ted. “Does your client understand the terms of this plea bargain, Mr. Trump?”
Ted’s attorney stood up. “He does, your Honor.”
“And he’s in total agreement?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
Karen’s eyes darted from one man to another, trying to understand what was happening. He was supposed to go to trial. He was supposed to be found guilty. He was supposed to be sent to prison for the rest of his life. What was going on?
The judge nodded to the district attorney. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
The district attorney lifted a document in his hands. “The County of Monroe hereby charges the defendant, Theodore Matthew Bateman, also known as Edward Matthews, with twenty-seven counts of the kidnapping of a minor and premeditated murder.”
“How does your client plead?” The judge turned to Ted’s attorney.
“Guilty, your Honor.”
Karen felt her heart lurch in her throat. He was pleading guilty? He was admitting it? What had she expected? That he would some-how manage to convince everyone that it was a big mistake? That he hadn’t really done all those terrible things? Maybe that’s exactly what she wanted him to say. Perhaps, somewhere deep in her heart, she wanted to hear him say that he hadn’t done all those things. Hadn’t killed. Hadn’t lied.
“Mr. Matthews, in exchange for a life sentence with no chance of parole, you have agreed to plead guilty and to answer certain questions put to you by this court. Do you understand this?”
> Ted looked almost bored as he replied, “Yes, your Honor.”
“You may proceed, Counselor.”
The district attorney turned to Ted. “Did you conspire with one Maryanne Bubeck to kidnap and sell your daughter, Jessica Matthews, to an adoption attorney for the purpose of putting the child up for adoption without the knowledge or consent of the mother of said child, Karen Matthews?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” The district attorney glanced only briefly at Karen be-fore turning his hard gaze back on Ted.
“Because getting rid of the brat served my purposes. The company was catching on to the money Maryanne and I were stealing, and the police had put together a task force to investigate the kidnapping of those kids. I had to confuse them.”
Karen sank down in her seat as Rene wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He really did do it! Dear God, he really did. And all because he’d wanted to confuse the police and cover his tracks? He’d put her through hell to cover his tracks?
Rage shot through her, hot and reverberant. She wanted to pound into him with her fists until he begged for mercy! Until he knew what it felt like to be betrayed!
“Did you then kill Maryanne Bubeck, disposing of her body in the river?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t need her anymore. She would do anything I asked her, but she started feeling guilty for helping me get rid of the brat. I had to kill her before she did something dumb.”
“Like tell the police.”
“Yes.”
“Did you conspire to fake your own death, framing your wife, Karen Matthews, for the alleged murder?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ted rolled his eyes. “Because she was a ditz and I was tired of her whining. Thought prison might toughen her up.” He smirked over at her. “I hated her and just wanted to make her as miserable as she’d made me.”
“Who was the man in the grave?”
“Some old drunk I picked up off the streets. A nobody.”
The district attorney began to go down the list of missing children, but Karen tuned him out. Her husband had framed her for murder just to make her miserable. He’d killed for the pure pleasure of it. Lied to cover his tracks. Destroyed people’s lives without an ounce of remorse.
Evil.
Rene leaned in close. “I heard that his attorney tried to get him to plead insanity and he refused.”
“I can’t believe it, Rene. He’s just sitting there with that grin on his face like this is all a big joke.”
“He has no soul, Karen. Can’t you see that? To him, this is nothing. He’s still thinking he can walk away from this.”
“How? He’s getting life in prison. He’s going to die in prison.”
“Who knows—maybe in his sick mind he thinks he can escape.”
Escape. Karen swallowed the word. It almost made her sick to her stomach. That a man like him should ever get the opportunity to walk the streets again was inconceivable.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Zoe Shefford sitting with the mother of one of the murdered children. Zoe had her arm around the crying woman, trying to console her. She lifted her eyes, as if sensing Karen was looking at her, and smiled a sad yet warm smile.
Karen returned the smile. How was Zoe dealing with this? Her own sister had been one of Ted’s first victims. She had walked in the path of his chaos all her life. Who could ever make that right for her? Or for any of the parents?
Quietly Karen turned and looked up at the judge. Then at Ted.
Someone had to make this right.
And maybe, just maybe, she knew how.
epilogue
Monday, June 15
I’ve been told many times that all things work for the good of those who love God.” Zoe took a deep breath, looked at the woman standing next to her, and smiled. Then she looked back over the people gathered in front of her.
“Many of you today are here with heavy hearts. This memorial has your child’s name on it along with the names of eighty-four other children who died far too soon. Among them is my sister, Amy. In spite of what we feel, God has worked something good out of this terrible tragedy.
“I need to say something that I hope you will take to heart. Your children aren’t here. This place is merely a testament to the life and love they experienced on this earth. They are all in heaven now.”
Zoe turned and looked at the white marble monument that stood nearly six feet tall behind her, topped with an angel looking down as if reading the names. She wiped tears from her eyes. When she turned, she noticed that many other people were crying as well.
She smiled at them. “Now for the awesome thing God has done.”
Zoe turned and held out her hand. Karen Matthews, looking nervous, took her hand and stepped up to the podium. Flashbulbs went off in a flurry, and Karen ducked her head.
“You go, girl,” Zoe whispered as she stepped back.
Karen took a deep breath and licked her dry lips. “I wish with all my heart that I could return each of these children back to their families. I wish I had known what my husband had been doing. I wish I could have done something to stop all of the murderers before they took your children from you. But wishes don’t make anything different. People do.”
She took another deep breath. “According to the Department of Justice, over half a million children disappear in this country every year. Over sixty thousand of them are never found. Six is too many. Sixty thousand is unacceptable.
“Of those sixty thousand abducted children, over one hundred are taken with the intent to kill. An overtaxed police force with limited resources is trying to find a needle in a haystack. We want to change that. And we can.
“Several businesses have joined with me in raising funds for a foundation that will help parents with missing children. We will provide resources to help them: detectives who specialize in child abductions; counseling services; information packets that include police procedures; Internet resources; and access to other agencies and churches. I don’t want these children to have died in vain. I want their lives to reach beyond death—to help keep other children safe.”
She took a deep breath, infused with a strength she didn’t expect, and spoke for fifteen more minutes, then calling to the podium Keyes and Denise Shefford and the other business owners who were donating time and money to the foundation.
While Keyes Shefford spoke, Karen turned and hugged Zoe.
“Thank you,” she whispered in Zoe’s ear.
Zoe knelt and carefully placed flowers next to the growing garden of color. She’d brought yellow roses. They stood out like sunshine among mostly red and orange blossoms left by other visitors.
“Hey, Amy. Sorry it took so long. But you’re home now. I mean, not really, but you know what I mean. I just want you to know that I still miss you.”
Slowly Zoe stood up and turned to walk back to her car. She saw him standing there and felt the aggravation surge again. “Detective,” she acknowledged in a cool voice. She stepped around him, pushing the keyless entry remote in her hand. Her car chirped as the door lock popped up.
She hadn’t seen or heard from him since his brief hospital visit. That stung a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit.
“You have every reason to be miffed at me,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“Do I?” She yanked open her car door.
“You were right.”
“Was I?”
“I’ve been bitter and angry and taking it out on everyone instead of dealing with the reason.”
Curious, Zoe turned and looked over her shoulder at him, noticing for the first time the dark circles under his eyes and the tight lines of tension around his mouth. She almost felt sorry for him. “And?”
“And I owe you an apology.”
“Accepted.” She slid into the car and reached for the door.
JJ stepped forward, blocking her effort. He leaned down, one hand br
aced on the roof of her car. “That day we first met, you brought up Macy and my dad.”
“Yes?”
“My dad was the officer on the scene. Did you know that he was in on the investigation?”
Zoe stared out the windshield, trying to ignore the pain in his voice and her own need to make it better for him. She wasn’t his savior. He’d have to find his own way, just like everyone else. “I knew.”
“I blamed him. They never caught the guy who did it. I blamed my dad for that.”
“I know.”
“Zoe, I need some time to work through all this.”
“You don’t need my permission, JJ.”
He lifted his head, stared at the sky, and exhaled sharply. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m trying to apologize here.”
“You apologized and I accepted. Done deal. What do you want from me, JJ?”
“I want to see you again.”
Zoe shoved her key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared. “We fight like cats and dogs, JJ. Why in heaven’s name would you want to see me?”
He moved in a little closer, and a hint of smile danced at the corners of his mouth. “Because we fight like cats and dogs. Because you don’t take any garbage from me and you’re not afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. Because you have the most wonderful smile and you intrigue the daylights out of me.”
“JJ, find your answers. Find peace with it all. And when you do, if you do, you have my number. That’s all I can say right now.”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
Zoe couldn’t help smiling. “Not on your life, Detective.”
A Word from the Author
Nothing is more heart-wrenching to a mother than suddenly realizing a child is missing. For three hours one day, I experienced just a touch of what these parents go through. In my case, the state police search and rescue team found my seven-year-old autistic daughter safe and sound a little more than a mile from my home. But for many parents, the ending isn’t a happy one.