“And then there was the neighborhood watch. My dad joined up, put on the orange vest they gave him, and walked around from when the sun went down until they all decided it was too cold and they’d rather be in someone’s hot tub, having drinks and talking big talk about what they were going to do when they caught Robert Jackson Kelley. My dad even told me that people were talking about trying to lure him to their house, like leaving a window open or their car unlocked, so they could get the reward money. Or even leaving food out on their porches, like he was a stray. Some of these dads were packing, too, and, like, couldn’t wait to shoot him. Like bagging a bear. They were going to all be as famous as he was. Part of the legend. The guy who caught the kid. A story they’d make their grandkids listen to forever.
“Each night when my dad was getting suited up, I’d start stalking around outside his room like it was the stage and yell some of Juror Number Eight’s most famous lines: ‘Are you his executioner? What it must feel like to want to pull the switch!’ He would roll his eyes and call me Meryl Streep and tell me to go make myself useful elsewhere.
“So basically no one could get away with anything or go anywhere and everyone’s dad was prowling the street in the dark with a gun. It was sort of the most exciting and most boring time we’d ever had. And I’m thinking, ‘Really? All this over the dirty-lookin’ kid I saw stumbling along the road?’
“And then the government shot him out of the sky, and blamed it on the weather. Tried to cover it up. But it was antiaircraft fire, sneaky Homeland Security stuff. They must have been so pissed when they realized he was still alive.
“There’s movies and books about Billy the Kid and Jesse James, right? But Robert didn’t kill anybody, didn’t hurt anybody. People say he was a terrorist, ready to join up with Al Qaeda and fly into the White House, but they have no clue. Robert was free, doing whatever he wanted, flipping off everyone, basically, and when somebody does that, they always got to try to bring him down. It’s, like, the American way.”
FEBRUARY 14, 2010
By Deb’s count, Vera Hunt had shown her son’s mug shot four times in a single report. Deb certainly hadn’t done her son any favors by refusing to give the Sheriff’s Department a photo of Robert. She’d thought anything she could do to drag her feet, slow the sheriff down, would give Robert a better chance to get away, but that strategy had backfired. She’d only given Travis Tennant time to show up on the scene. Time for the island’s men to decide they needed to arm themselves and prowl the streets, like a serial killer was on the loose.
And Robert looked handsome in that mug shot, but too pleased with himself.
He hadn’t listened to her. When had he ever? She’d told him another lie, that he wasn’t welcome in her home. Those words had sliced into her heart, would rise and redden and thicken and scar. And for what?
So Robert had time to damn near blow himself up.
She had studied herself in the mirror, scrutinizing her crow’s feet and roots, and then started making calls.
Vera Hunt could get her on that night. Jonathan Richards was still on Yannatok, interviewing locals. They could patch her in via satellite. They’d even bump some expert witness from the Jack Benson trial.
Now there was a guilty bastard.
She filled her next hours so she didn’t have to think too much about being on national news, beamed into houses with living rooms where armchair psychologists would shake their heads at what an atrocious mother she was and kitchen-table judges would find her guilty. She borrowed a light blue shell and cardigan from Laura Roth that could have been worn by the widowed grandma who’d raised her. She kept her jeans on, though; they’d only shoot her from the waist up. And she paid for highlights and a layered haircut at La Vita Bellisima, the island’s one classy alternative to Supercuts. She splurged on some new makeup, too, Revlon and Covergirl. Doe-brown eye shadow instead of her usual steel gray. Petal-pink lipstick.
When she next studied her reflection, she saw Debra MacPherson, someone you could trust to find your dream home.
She’d seen Vera Hunt’s show before. She knew the story she needed to tell to save her son.
* * *
He staggered for hours in the wrong direction, only realizing his mistake when the Yannatok Bridge hovered in front of him. Robert hunched in the trees by the shoulder, his throat scraped by thirst, and stared at the road. He couldn’t see the spot where the bridge finally crossed the finish line in Seattle, of course, but he knew it was there.
Somebody had tagged the island side of the bridge again. WWRF. Robert squinted, not sure if he was reading the letters correctly. Because what the hell did that mean?
What if he just kept walking? What if he gathered his last remaining bits of strength and ran over that bridge, dove for the opposite coast, went as far into Seattle as his feet could carry him? Wouldn’t that be the best move?
No.
He would make it home.
He would make things right with his mother.
He turned around, and hobbled on.
Transcribed from Hunt for Justice with Vera Hunt, MSNBC, February 14, 2010
Vera:
Tonight, an explosive Hunt for Justice with Vera Hunt exclusive! Debra MacPherson, the mother of notorious airplane thief, fugitive, and suspected terrorist Robert Jackson Kelley, otherwise known as the Lollipop Kid, joins us live via satellite from Yannatok. Ms. MacPherson, welcome to the show.
Deb:
Thank you, Vera.
Vera:
Now, Ms. MacPherson, you know I have to ask you some tough questions tonight. The ones our viewers deserve answers to. So I’ll just get right to it. Do you know where your son is?
Deb:
I do not.
Vera:
Have you been harboring him, Mom?
Deb:
I have not. I haven’t seen my son since before Christmas. I find this all as hard to believe as everybody else.
Vera:
So set the scene for us. How did you find out your son was a wanted criminal?
Deb:
It was the middle of the day, and I was asleep. I work nights as a 911 dispatcher, so sometimes I’m asleep during the day. I had gone to bed with my phone right on my pillow in case the sheriff called, because they were supposed to be out looking for my son. He was already missing. So when the sheriff did call, I was hoping for good news, but very worried about a bad outcome. I obviously didn’t expect something like this.
Vera:
Your son was missing and you were still going to work? Business as usual?
Deb:
Well, I do have to pay my bills, Vera. And when I wasn’t working, I was out looking for my son, every chance I got. And I will say that it seemed like I was the only one. Unfortunately, my son’s not a pretty little rich girl who plays the harp.
Vera:
Where do you think Robert is right now?
Deb:
I don’t know.
Vera:
Do you think he will attempt to steal another plane?
Deb:
I hope not.
Vera:
How did he learn to fly, Mom? That’s not something I learned in high school!
Deb:
Me neither, that’s for sure! He’s been playing these flying games on the computer for a long time. I guess he just figured it out. He’s a bright boy.
Vera:
Tell us about your son, Ms. MacPherson.
Deb:
Like I said, Robert is a very bright boy. He’s funny. He loves his dog. He loves the water. He keeps to himself mostly, and he wants to enlist in the army. That’s why some of this talk about him being a terrorist is so shocking to me. It couldn’t be further from the truth. He wants to fight for his country.
Vera:
What do you say to reports that he was a troublemaker at school? Fighting, dealing drugs? He was eventually kicked out of school.
Deb:
Vera, I’m sure this is going to come
out sooner or later, but my son’s father is in jail. He was never in Robert’s life. He is not a good man. And I’ve had to raise him on my own, no help whatsoever, and I did the best I could. I can tell you Robert didn’t use drugs. But I think not having a father in his life has really affected him.
Vera:
What do you make of these lollipops, this candy being left at the scene? Do you think your son is mocking the police?
Deb:
(laughs) No. I think he just left behind some candy. And that’s just hearsay. Some people are trying to make my son out to be this criminal mastermind, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s just a kid who’s in over his head.
Vera:
Well, I have to tell you, Ms. MacPherson, I know some of our viewers at home just don’t buy it. They’re saying, “Teenage boys just don’t wake up one day and steal a plane, Vera! There’s some plotting that went on, and this mom’s got her head in the sand!” So I have to ask, could you be blind when it comes to your son?
Deb:
I’m as surprised by all this as anyone else. I could not be more shocked if a plane crashed into my own living room.
Vera:
One still might! So you still maintain then, despite how unbelievable, how flat-out ludicrous it might seem, that one day your son just said to himself, ‘You know, I think I’ll steal that airplane over there,’ and managed to do so without any training or forethought or help from anyone?
Deb:
As crazy as it sounds, that seems pretty close to the truth.
Vera:
Well, if my experience as a trial lawyer and investigative reporter has taught me anything, it’s that the truth always comes out in these situations, and justice will be served. I’ll ask my final question: if by some chance Robert can see you, hear you right now, wherever he is, whatever his state of mind might be, what would you like to say to him, Mom?
Deb:
I love him and I want him to be safe. I want him to slow down and think about his safety. I’m always telling him to think before he acts, and he needs to do that now.
Vera:
Would your son be safer if he turned himself in?
Deb:
(long pause) I just can’t answer that. I don’t know. I just want him to be safe.
Vera:
Thank you so much for being with us tonight, Ms. MacPherson. I’m going to go ahead and bring on Jonathan Richards, who has some new information just now coming to light in this developing story. We’ve already reported that Robert Jackson Kelley escaped from a “wilderness therapy center” mere days before his first hijacking, and we immediately questioned what a drug dealer with a record of fighting and violence was doing in such a place instead of in a locked-down juvenile facility. Well, tonight we have learned that it was none other than Yannatok’s Sheriff James Holt who brokered the deal that allowed Robert Jackson Kelley to escape custody so easily and begin his airborne crime spree. Here’s Jonathan Richards, who’s on Yannatok Island tonight, to fill us in.
Jonathan:
Thank you, Vera. What I hold in my hand is a copy of the diversion agreement that allowed Robert Jackson Kelley to avoid a drug charge when he was caught selling Adderall at Yannatok High School just last November. This agreement, as well as Kelley’s stay at Sea Brook Youth Home, was arranged by Sheriff Holt—
Vera:
I’m sorry, Johnathan, did I hear you correctly? A diversion agreement? Can we see that mug shot again? That smile is just frightening. A so-called diversion agreement, signed by none other than Sheriff James Holt. I can only imagine the fear in the hearts of the citizens of tiny Yannatok Island tonight, knowing that the man who swore to serve and protect them allowed Robert Jackson Kelley to sign one of these agreements and slip right back out into the community. Where was his concern for their well-being? Can you imagine sitting with your family around the dinner table, kids talking about their school days, and this hoodlum crashes through your ceiling in one of his stolen planes? What else did you find out, Jonathan?
Jonathan:
According to a spokesperson from Sea Brook, Sheriff Holt himself recommended Kelley’s placement at their school instead of a higher-security juvenile facility, like the one in Portland other teens from the area have been sent to.
Vera:
So I have to ask: just what are they doing at this Sea Brook school? Training these wannabe thugs in the art of hiding out? Thank you, Jonathan. I’m going to go ahead and bring back our guest tonight, also coming to us via satellite from tiny Yannatok, Robert Jackson Kelley’s mother, Debra, speaking exclusively with us. Ms. MacPherson, I know our viewers want to know: is your son armed?
Deb:
Jesus, no. That boy wouldn’t know what to do with a gun even if he could get his hands on one. I know my son, and he is probably more scared than anyone on Yannatok right now.
Vera:
Well, that’s where I have to disagree with you, Mom, because Robert Jackson Kelley doesn’t seem scared at all. Would a scared little boy be leaving candy at the scenes of his crimes to taunt the police? I want to bring in Mr. Travis Tennant, the man who seems like perhaps the only person equipped to do something about this terrifying situation on the West Coast, also with us via satellite from Yannatok. Mr. Tennant, what do you make of tonight’s bombshell regarding the sheriff’s collusion with Robert Jackson Kelley?
Travis:
Unfortunately, Vera, I’m not surprised at all. The sheriff has proven himself to be in over his head since the beginning of these events.
Deb:
Vera, if I could go back to what you said about the lollipops—
Vera:
Mr. Tennant, do you have any leads on where Robert Jackson Kelley is hiding out?
Travis:
Yes, Vera, without saying too much and compromising our operations, we know Robert Jackson Kelley is still on Yannatok and that he will be caught.
Vera:
Well, you’ve heard Robert Jackson Kelley’s mother’s claims. She says she hasn’t seen him since before Christmas!
Travis:
With all due respect to Ms. MacPherson, I believe she isn’t harboring him, but I don’t believe her son has left the island as she says.
Deb:
Mr. Tennant, you haven’t caught anybody yet. And if I could comment on these rumors about the lollipops, what is so threatening about a forgotten bag of candy? I can’t believe the big deal being made out of it. And as far as I know, that’s only a rumor. I doubt it’s even true.
Travis:
You seem to want to dismiss your son’s actions as some kind of accident, or maybe a boyish prank, and what he’s doing is about as dangerous as anything I’ve ever heard of.
Deb:
And yet not a single person has been hurt! The only thing that’s been hurt is a couple of pine trees!
Vera:
Yet! No one has been hurt yet! And that is merely luck and God’s watchful eye looking over the people of Yannatok! And certainly no thanks to the sheriff, who has botched this manhunt at every turn.
Travis:
Well said, Vera. Why were there not armed guards at those airstrips? Why wasn’t the FBI brought in immediately, given the possible links to terrorism? That’s why the locals got anxious and contacted me.
Deb:
The FBI? This is a kid who can’t remember to bring a pencil to school, and now he’s some kind of terrorist? If you could just understand, this is a kid whose best friend is his dog, who used to spend hours at the beach, just paddling around on a surfboard and keeping to himself, not getting in any kind of trouble.
Vera:
How do you explain, then, the rap sheet from his school, the fights, the drug charge? Does this sound like a good kid, a kid who doesn’t get in trouble?
Deb:
He is just a boy. He never had a father.
Travis:
All that being said, our focus now should be on finding him and bringing him to justice bef
ore his luck runs out and someone is killed. And I am going to do just that.
Vera:
The people of Yannatok thank you, Mr. Tennant, and so do I, for being on our show tonight. Up next, outrage in the heartland! We update you on the trial of wife-killer Jack Benson.
FEBRUARY 14, 2010
Holt had received an invitation from a Vera Hunt producer to appear on the show, right next to Travis Tennant, and face Vera’s screechy questions. He’d emphatically declined, figuring that the people of Yannatok would rather know he was at work, at the crime scene, poring over evidence, tromping through the woods himself if that’s what it took to find Robert Jackson Kelley. They’d see him on TV and he knew what they’d say: This guy needs to stop mugging for the camera and actually catch the kid! What, he thinks he’s a big shot? A celebrity?
He watched the show alone in his living room, kicking off his heavy shoes and pouring himself a whiskey. A blister bloomed over his big toe. He settled into his chair and pulled an old afghan over his legs. Bandit stretched out at his feet. His sips turned to gulps as the show unfolded, as he realized what a mistake he’d made. He grabbed his phone and frantically tried to reach the producer, clinging to the idea that they could patch him in over the phone, so he could defend himself, his job, his department. He had merely been giving a local boy a hand up, a second chance, the kind he’d luckily received himself. If they could have met that kid—not this Lollipop Bandit or whatever they were calling him, but the kid Holt had watched on the station’s closed-circuit camera. Pacing around the cell, so squirrelly he couldn’t sit still for two minutes at a time. If he didn’t have the DNA results from the kid’s own puke, Holt wouldn’t believe he was the culprit.
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