LUCY: The Complete Lucy Kendall Series with Bonus Content (The Lucy Kendall Series Book 5)

by Stacy Green

  Before I called Todd, I’d found some gloves and spent a few minutes in Jake’s email.

  I told Todd everything in full, omitting only my confession to Riley about Preacher. “He stabbed Riley when she started to argue with him. The little boy she’d been taking care of appeared on Jake’s trafficking site, and she lost it when I told her. He wasn’t interested. I tried to save her, but by the time I took care of Jake, she was gone.” I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I can’t believe you got out of this,” Todd said. He’d just led me out of the house and hovered protectively.

  “I didn’t want to die.” There was nothing more to it. I used my considerable skills at reading and manipulating people and did what I had to do. Survival of the fittest.

  Todd wrapped me in his big coat as we walked to his car. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  I’d made a wise choice not to run. Todd said we were at least five miles from civilization, as he put it, just west of Philadelphia. Without a coat, I’d have ended up with hypothermia.

  The Audi with the black rims squealed to a halt just before I was ready to collapse into Todd’s modest sedan. Chris left the engine running and burst through paramedics to get to me. I let him take me into his arms, breathing in the warm, safe scent that was decidedly him. He grabbed my face with both hands. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It was Jake, the Senator’s aide. And Riley. He killed her, and I hit him with the shovel. I had to.”

  His eyes searched mine, and then he pulled me close again. “As long as you’re safe.”

  Todd cleared his throat. “Listen, I need to take her in and get her statement.”

  “Whatever happened was self-defense,” Chris said. His grip around me tightened. I felt like I was melting into him, exhaustion turning my limbs into jelly.

  “Of course it is,” Todd said. “But we need to get an official statement.”

  Todd gestured for me to get into the car. “Chris, you can meet us at the station, be there with her when she gives the statement.” He cleared his throat again and glanced at me. “If that’s what she wants.”

  “It is,” I said. “But can you give us a minute?”

  A flash of disappointment in Todd’s eyes, followed by a hard nod. “Hurry. It’s cold.”

  I waited until he’d gotten behind the wheel and shut the car door before I looked up at Chris. He hugged me tighter.

  “What is it?”

  “They were going to sell me to a couple.”

  Icy blue eyes stared down at me. He dipped his head toward mine so only I could hear him. “You did the right thing.”

  “I know, but we have a bigger problem, and I don’t plan on telling Todd about it.”

  He waited, staring at me as if I held all the secrets of the world. “Your mother was the buyer. She bought from Jake before, and she was looking for me.”

  Chris pressed his lips together. His jaw clenched, a muscle in his right cheek flexing. “You know what this means.”

  “I do. I have the information we’ll need.”

  It was time take care of Mother Mary.

  38

  UNKNOWN

  Three blind fools,

  See Them Run,

  The blond was in the way

  The redhead is learning her place

  The last one will soon go away

  Three blind fools, See Them Run,

  He singsongs the silly rhyme he’s made up, tottering around his spotless kitchen. Dawn is breaking, and National Public Radio is talking about the massive child sex trafficking ring discovered by the Philadelphia Police.

  Pouring freshly squeezed orange juice, he scoffs. Detective Todd Beckett, a joke.

  Beckett couldn’t even figure out Sam Townsend was the perfect patsy. It had been easy enough to fake Townsend’s suicide by hanging, a simple trick of wearing gloves and providing the right leverage. Sarah had been harder, more willing to fight.

  Killing her was fun.

  He laughs now, cleaning his single morning dish. Todd Beckett getting the glory for that case was a damned shame. He’d had it all handed to him by the woman with the power to destroy them all.

  He’s confident she’s learning her place, but this latest stunt makes him wonder.

  He doesn’t want to fight the redhead. She’s too useful.

  But if it comes to that, he will do what is necessary.

  He always has.

  Gone to Die

  A Novel

  Stacy Green

  1

  I killed two people last month. They weren’t the first. But they were different. Not because of who or what they were–they were every bit as evil as anyone else I’ve killed. It’s the why that’s changed everything. I took the step I swore I’d never take, catapulting right off the ledge into a black sea of soulless monsters, their scrawny arms throttling me until I couldn’t draw a breath without feeling the jagged edge of guilt slicing through my lungs. I didn’t kill Jake and Riley because they didn’t deserve to live.

  I killed them to save myself.

  The person I used to be–the person I thought I was–is trapped somewhere in the abyss of guilt and anger, and I don’t know if I can escape. I think I want to. At least, some days I want to. But deep down in the part of my stomach that twisted and turned and worried itself into a searing ulcer from the fifth ring of hell, I wasn’t sure I had any choice in the matter. And it terrified me.

  But it might not matter. Preacher, the pimp I’d killed last month, had been found. Snowmobilers took a wrong turn and received the surprise of their lives. The corpse in the Allegheny National Forest was this morning’s top headline, with both men rosy cheeked from the snow and excited to be on television happily describing their ordeal. Authorities had yet to identify the body, but it was only a matter of time.

  Three people. I killed three people last month. My mind had a hard time counting Preacher as a person.

  Chris left numerous messages of panic, all of which I ignored. Even though my guts burned like I’d swallowed turpentine, what was I supposed to do? There was nothing tying me to Preacher. My disguise at the motel had been on point; I didn’t give him my real name until it didn’t matter. And the man surely had plenty of enemies. No reason to suspect I had anything to do with his death.

  But part of me still felt utterly alone in a world that had shifted on its axis, with me clawing at dead air for my very life, snared in the deep, black oblivion of those monsters in the pit. I’d rather crawl back into bed and let them have at me, but I’d made a promise to Justin and Todd. I wrestled my demons back into their proper place and focused on the task at hand.

  My hazy gaze searched my surroundings as if I’d just set foot in the room, taking in the shining wood of the judge’s chambers, which smelled faintly of wood cleaner and dusty, old paper. The ancient law books stacked neatly in the bookcases were outdated and probably for show, but their stale scent set my teeth on edge.

  “You realize this is a very unusual proceeding.” Philadelphia County District Judge Earl Bannam looked up from the file he’d been poring over. In his mid-fifties, Judge Bannam reminded me of the old-time gentlemen we’ve lost in recent years. Trimmed hair, well-cut suit with a tie that was decidedly plain. A nice watch, but not one that costs a month’s mortgage. He even had a full-length dress jacket–black, of course–and a fedora hanging on the coat rack in his office, a room just as unpretentious as he. Solid wood furniture, framed law degrees, and a few family photos. Nothing flashy. Justin Beckett couldn’t have gotten a better judge.

  “We do.” Todd spoke for his brother, who sat between us. Justin’s recently cut hair and smooth face renewed his youthful innocence; he appeared buoyant – too strong for the tides of adversity to pin down. New slacks and a blue shirt I’d bought him heightened his eyes, which remained poised on the judge.

  Judge Bannam pushed his reading glasses to the middle of his forehead, where they somehow balanced. “Miss Kendall, your p
resence here is surprising, given you were the original CPS worker on the Beckett case, and you spoke out at his parole hearing.” He glanced down at the file. “Quite vehemently.”

  I took a deep breath. “I was wrong. Mary Weston, also known as Martha Beckett, bullied and manipulated Justin into a place of impenetrable fear. As an inexperienced social worker, I was too naïve to see that.” And my failure had cost countless more lives. How different would things have been if I’d been able to spot Justin’s mother for what she really was? Certainly his life would have turned out differently. Maybe mine would have too. “I should have been more objective, but I couldn’t get past the death of the little girl and the idea that his attacking her was the only explanation. I was there as Justin’s advocate, and I failed him. I’m just as much responsible for his wrongful status as Martha Beckett.”

  I licked my lips. The heat of all three men’s stares forced me to shift in my chair. I’d refused to discuss what I’d say to the judge, only promising to speak on Justin’s behalf. Accepting my part in the mess of his life was the least I could do. Wasn’t that one of the twelve steps to recovery? Accepting responsibility for one’s mistakes and making amends? Somehow I didn’t think the criteria applied to a murderer like me.

  “And you believe Martha Beckett did these things?” Bannam’s glasses still stuck to his shining forehead. “Who’s to say this isn’t something he’s made up?”

  I’d anticipated this, had spent weeks preparing for it. “You’re aware there is clear evidence that Mary Weston was an active participant in the Lancaster murders of the 1980s, and law enforcement believes she’s continued to torture and kill young girls in the decades since her husband was incarcerated?”

  Bannam nodded.

  “Are you familiar with her methods, Your Honor?” In the past few weeks, with Kelly’s help, I’d learned every detail about the Weston victims. The case had been so shocking and sensationalized that a lot of the grislier aspects had leaked to the press. And there was no shortage of true crime data on the Web. But it was Todd’s access to the case files that gave me the ammunition we needed.

  “Only in the general sense,” Bannam said.

  “May I enlighten you? It pertains to Justin’s case, I promise.”

  Justin shifted nervously, glancing at his brother, who looked remarkably calm. His faith mystified me. This man, who’d guessed at the evil inside me, still thought I had something worthy to offer the world.

  “Go ahead, but be brief.”

  “Mary and John Weston murdered several young girls after keeping each of them at least a month.” I recited the information as if the memories were my own scars, scattered over my body, deep and welted, never properly healed. “During this time, they sexually assaulted and tortured them with various objects. Horsewhips, pliers, and lighters were just some of the items found in the barn where they performed their crimes. Along with a set of wooden spoons of varying sizes.” I paused, giving the information time to sink in. I should have been disgusted, but I’d read the information so many times my system had become immune. “The last victim, Jenna Richardson, had a bad case of sepsis when she was found. She was always blindfolded during her assaults, but she was able to tell officers someone used a spoon to sexually assault her. Testing revealed multiple blood types on the spoons, meaning they weren’t washed from victim to victim.”

  “You’re talking about the sort of thing that happened with childbirth in the 1800s.” Bannam’s upper lip curled to his nose. He spoke in a whisper, as if a normal voice made the reality worse. “Before Oliver Wendell Holmes got the bright idea of doctors washing their hands.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And the autopsy reports show at least one of the other victims prior to Jenna died of sepsis. I think it’s safe to say the Westons enjoyed their spoons and cared little about hygiene.”

  Bannam’s grimace once again broke his distinguished demeanor. “The vile scum that walks in our society is truly frightening. But tell me how this relates to Justin’s case.”

  “The spoons were held back from the media, kept for law enforcement only.” Those files had changed everything. Todd had barged into my apartment late one evening, completely ignoring my demands to be allowed to stay in bed and sink further into my head. “Detective Beckett secured the information two weeks ago. The Weston murders happened long before Justin was born, and again, have been in confidential police files. Last fall, when he told me the truth about Layla’s murder, he said his mother raped her with a spoon.” Justin’s breath hitched, but he said nothing. I knew the memory still scraped raw, and I doubted it would ever fully heal.

  “At the time, I believed him because of pure gut instinct that’s been honed over years of CPS and private investigator work,” I said. “But I knew you would need something more, so I started researching the Westons in depth. And we found out about the spoons. He didn’t know about them when he first told me what really happened to Layla. He couldn’t have known.”

  Chris had erupted with jealousy when I told him I had to help Justin before we went after their mother. I let him rage, and then I told him he’d have to wait. I had to do the right thing. For once.

  Bannam stroked his chin. “You’re willing to testify in court about this, knowing perjury would mean the termination of your license?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you,” Bannam turned to Todd. “Same question. I realize you’re in a tough situation, but your reputation and career are on the line with this.”

  “I accept that,” Todd said.

  “Your Honor.” The heavy tiredness haunting me these last few weeks threatened to creep into my head. I knew what it was. Depression. That black phantom so many people refused to acknowledge. Not me. I was depressed as hell. I was a killer, and even worse, my actions hadn’t made a damned bit of difference. But this one could. This one had to, because Justin deserved to have his life back. “When I forced my way into the search for Kailey Richardson, I was certain Justin had taken her. I nearly screwed up the search because I couldn’t see past my own prejudices. And believe me, I know firsthand the impact sexual abuse has on a family. If I had any doubt of Justin’s innocence, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Bannam finally pushed his glasses back into their normal space. The frames left indents on his forehead. “And your research supporting the theory you’ve just given me, it’s all in this file?”

  “Every bit.” I didn’t need hard copies, even though Kelly insisted on having everything in triplicate. The horrors of the Westons–the crime scene photos of the abandoned girls, the torture den in the barn, and Jenna Richardson’s brave testimony–were seared into my memory.

  The judge seemed satisfied. He turned his attention to Justin, gazing over the top of his glasses with hawkish interest. “You’re asking for your record to be expunged, even though it’s a juvenile record and sealed. Why?”

  Justin’s cheeks hollowed as he drew a whistling breath. “Because it’s the right thing. I was too scared as a kid to stand up for myself. And that cost me a lot of time.” His knees bounced up and down, his slim fingers tapping a fast beat on his thighs. “But this isn’t even about me, really. I’ve got a job. I’m taking classes. I’m working on starting over. And yet this crime is over my head, on paper, when it should be on my mother’s head. How is that any kind of justice for my friend Layla? Mary Weston–Martha Beckett, whatever you want to call her–is responsible for her death, and that needs to be made right. For everyone’s sake.”

  Pride surged over the burgeoning depression. Justin would be just fine in this life.

  Me, on the other hand? I wasn’t sure what I had left in the tank.

  I waited for Todd and Justin outside the courtroom, feeling the ache of exhaustion in every joint of my body. The days and nights had begun to blend into one seamless blur of misery. If I wasn’t curled in bed, consumed in my own bad choices, I was scouring the Weston case. My interest wasn’t solely in helping Justin, although that was the driving for
ce. I’d told Chris I needed to get inside Mother Mary’s head, to figure out how she maneuvered in this life, how she was able to manipulate so many people, if we had a shot in hell of finding her. But with every new story I read, eyewitness accounts from police at the farm in Lancaster to the steadfast denial of her involvement by her imprisoned ex-husband, I sank further into the pit. I wasn’t afraid of Mary. That was too simple. What jarred me were the similarities between us, even though our lives were worlds apart. The manipulation, the ability to make people around us believe we were the best thing that ever happened to them, that they were blessed by our affections–those shattered me with the force of shrapnel.

  My phone rang, and I answered Chris’s call, knowing what he’d say. “Todd and Justin are still in with the judge. I’m just waiting to hear what he says.”

  “And then what?” Chris’s combative tone tweaked my already thin nerves. I’d pushed him away the past few weeks, telling him I had to do this deed first. I couldn’t hold him off much longer. He frothed like an angry bull circling its competition. “Isn’t it time we took action?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to say yes, and my indecision only made the bottomless feeling worse. Articulation failed me, but going after Mary seemed like the Spartans marching to be annihilated by the Persians in the Battle of Thermopylae. If I faced Mother Mary, I’d lose. Whether physical or psychological, facing her meant I’d lose whatever tiny bit of my humanity I had left.

  “Soon.”

  “Right.” Chris’s anger didn’t even sting. I understood his frustration, but I could do nothing to prevent it. All of my bravado had bled out with Riley in Jake’s garage.

  Todd and Justin exited the judge’s chamber, giving me a blissful reprieve. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Lucy, I’m getting tired of waiting.”

  “I know. I’ve got to go.” I ended the call and stood, my sluggish heart feeling a burst of excitement at the smile on Justin’s face. “Well?”