“Holy Jesus,” Wallace muttered.
Jeffrey got down on his stomach so that he could see her better, asking, “Lacey?”
The child did not respond, though at this distance, he could see there was something white at the corners of her mouth.
“Lacey?” he tried again, putting his gun beside him on the floor so he could reach in and touch her forehead. She felt clammy and there was something gritty on her skin.
Jeffrey told Wallace, “Hold my feet,” as he reached into the hole. He managed to hook his hands under her arms and get a good grip on her. Wallace kept him from sliding in as Jeffrey started to pull Lacey out. She was small, but her body was deadweight. He asked Nick for help, and between the three of them they managed to get her out of the hole.
“You’re okay,” Nick said, setting her down on the floor inside the bedroom.
Jeffrey sat back on his heels, wiping the dust from his forehead. The crawl space was filthy, red Georgia clay like powder from the heat.
Suddenly, there was a scratching noise from underneath the house as if someone was moving. Without thinking, Jeffrey dove into the hole, catching himself with his hands so he wouldn’t fall on his face. It was dark under the house, low-hanging pipes giving it the appearance of a maze. Jeffrey blinked several times, trying to acclimate himself, when a flash of light came from the far end of the house.
“Nick!” he yelled, taking off, using his elbows and feet to propel himself through the small space. From above, he heard footsteps running through the house, and prayed Nick’s man in the back would act quickly.
Up ahead, he saw a pair of feet slipping through a narrow vent opening. Jeffrey followed as fast as he could, banging his head on a gas line. He kept going toward the light, turning at the last minute and using his feet to kick at the hole. The mortar was weak in the old house, and bricks flew out from the force. Jeffrey turned back around, pushing himself through the opening, feeling intense pain as his pants tore on the jagged brick.
“Stop!” Robbins screamed. He was just a kid, his feet out wide, his gun in front of him, pointing at the figure running toward him.
Jeffrey knew what was going to happen and it did. The runner smacked right into Robbins, who dropped his gun. Jeffrey stood, unable to move as he recognized the runner.
“Dottie!” Jeffrey yelled.
Dottie stood, their eyes locking. She raised her hands like she meant to surrender, then took off running toward the backyard. Jeffrey knelt, pulling out his ankle gun in one swift movement as he lined up to take the shot. He stopped as Dottie jumped the fence and ran into the neighbor’s backyard, which was full of kids playing on a swing set.
Jeffrey took off after her, pumping his arms as he ran. He hurdled the fence without breaking stride, running around kids like an obstacle course. He saw Dottie run into the house, slamming the door behind her. Jeffrey took the steps two at a time, busting the door open with his shoulder, breaking into the hallway and nearly smacking into a line of kids. The first one barely came up to Jeffrey’s waist, and he sidestepped to miss the boy, slamming full force into the wall. His arm felt like it was on fire, and Jeffrey dropped his gun.
“Sir?” a young woman asked. She was probably around twenty, and her dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked terrified.
Jeffrey sat up, pressing his fingers into his arm to see if he had broken anything. He realized he was panting from running. There were at least ten kids around, all of them looking at Jeffrey with the same fear in their eyes as the young woman had. His heart stopped as he realized he was in a day-care center. All of these kids, so close to Dottie; he could not fathom the implications.
“Sir?” the woman repeated, pulling some of the kids close to her.
Jeffrey pulled his badge out of his back pocket, showing it to her. He tried to catch his breath so he could speak. “Where…?” he began. “The woman…?”
“Wendy?” the girl asked. “Wendy James?”
Jeffrey shook his head, thinking she did not understand.
“She just left,” the girl told him. “She ran through the house and—”
Jeffrey jumped up, scattering the kids as he retrieved his gun. He ran out the open front door, into the yard and to the street. He could see a car ahead, taking a right to merge onto the busy interstate. It could have been white or tan or gray. It could have been a four door or a coupe or a hatch-back. He did not know what kind of car it was. All he knew was that it was gone.
20
JEFFREY WALKED around to the dock behind Sara’s house. The moon was high above the trees, and a breeze was coming in off the lake. Jeffrey stood in the grass, watching Sara, feeling some of the stress start to drain out of him. She sat in one of the two deck chairs on the dock, her legs crossed at the ankle in front of her. In the moonlight, Jeffrey could see she was staring out at the rocks in the water. The greyhounds were with her and she rested her hand on Bob’s head. She was wearing a pair of shorts and one of his old shirts. Jeffrey stared at her, thinking that she looked even better now than she did the night before.
She turned in her chair when she heard his footsteps on the dock. Billy and Bob kept their heads down, staring out at the water.
“Don’t let them scare you,” Sara teased.
“They’re so ferocious,” Jeffrey said. He went on one knee to pet Bob on the head. The dog rolled over, kicking his left leg into the air as Jeffrey scratched his belly.
Sara put her hand on Jeffrey’s shoulder. “How’s Lacey?”
He sighed. “Better. The sleeping pills are wearing off, but she’s still groggy.”
“Did they find anything?”
“There was no evidence of recent abuse,” Jeffrey said.
“Just recent?”
He nodded. “There were signs that something happened before.”
Sara seemed to sense he did not want to give specifics right now. She asked, “What did her father say?”
Jeffrey kept scratching Bob’s belly, enjoying the simple pleasure. “He said he’s glad to have her back.”
“Does he have a problem with me talking to her tomorrow?”
“Not last I checked,” Jeffrey said. “He still thinks it was all Dottie.”
She stroked his hair back behind his ear. “Have they identified the kids yet?”
“They’re running the fingerprints now. Who knows what will come up? One of them sounded Canadian. This boy…” He let his voice trail off, not sure he could tell Sara what they found in that house. It was like a cancer, rotting his brain every time he thought about it.
“What about the day care behind the house?”
“She had just started working there,” Jeffrey said. “Maybe a week or so. All the kids are being checked out, but they’re thinking she didn’t have time.”
Sara asked the question that had kept him up at night, “Do you think you’ll ever find Dottie?”
“We’re hoping she doesn’t know we picked up on Jenny’s social security number,” he said, giving Billy equal time behind the ears and on his belly. “She’s picked up mail there before, according to one of the workers. She’s been renting the box about a year now. Mail from two other boxes has been forwarded there.”
Sara pressed her lips together. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing.”
“We’re coordinating with the credit card company. They’re mailing it out tomorrow. It should be in the box in a couple of days.” He shrugged. “From there, we just sit and wait. She shouldn’t take long to get it. I’m sure she needs the money to set up shop, wherever she is.”
“You think that’s what she’s doing?”
He gave her a sad smile. “The guy at the post office says there’s another card from a different company in the box right now.”
“What’s with all the cooperation?” Sara asked. She knew better than anyone that people were reluctant to assist the police these days. “Didn’t they ask for a subpoena?”
“No,” Jeffrey told her. “
It’s amazing how helpful people are when you tell them that children are involved.”
“So,” Sara began. “What next?
“We’re going to have to coordinate with the school, find out how many kids were involved in this thing.”
“I want to check every file at the clinic.”
“Will Molly help you?”
Sara nodded. “I already talked with her. We need to be careful about this. The hard part is going to be dealing with the hysterics whose kids never had contact with Dave Fine or Dottie or Grace.”
“You think people will do that?”
“Yes,” Sara answered. “You can’t blame them, but we’re going to have to find a way to screen out the real cases from the bogus ones. We’re lucky in a way that this was happening to older kids who can talk about what happened.”
“They didn’t look that old in the pictures.”
“The FBI will have someone assign ages to the kids. They’ll use the Tanner scale. There are certain markers that tell you how old a kid is.”
“I hate that there’s even such a thing.”
“Do you want me to go to the school with you?”
Jeffrey sighed, thinking about how hard the next few days were going to be. Of course, it wasn’t her job to talk to Lacey Patterson, either. He said, “I know you don’t have to, Sara, but do you mind?”
“No,” she told him. “Of course not.”
“What I want to know is why do the kids protect these people?” Jeffrey asked, because that was the one thing that he could not understand. “Why didn’t Lacey or Jenny talk to one of their teachers, or go to you?”
“It’s hard for them,” Sara explained. “Their parents are all they have, all they know. It’s not like they can move out and get jobs. A lot of times parents convince them that it’s normal, or that they don’t have an alternative.”
“Like Stockholm syndrome,” he said. “Where the victim falls in love with the abductor.”
“That’s a good analogy,” Sara told him. “Their parents set up this pattern where they abuse them, then buy them ice cream. Or they guilt them into doing what they want, or trick them. Kids don’t know that it’s not supposed to be that way.” Sara sighed. “And the fact is, the kids love their parents. They want to please them. They don’t want to get their parents in trouble. They want the behavior to stop, but they don’t want to lose their mother and father.” She paused. “There’s a real dependency there. The parents cause the pain, but they’re also the ones who take it away.”
She continued, “I’ve also been thinking about the baby.”
He didn’t look at her, but said, “Yeah?”
“Grace’s baby was a girl. Maybe Jenny thought she was protecting the baby. Maybe that’s why she helped Grace get rid of the baby.”
He thought it over, thinking that Jenny was so afraid of Grace she would’ve done anything to avoid her wrath. Jeffrey finally said, “It’s possible.”
“I really think that’s why she did it,” Sara said with conviction. “I think Grace made her help kill the baby and Jenny was so upset all she could think to do was kill Mark, the father.” She sounded so sure of herself that Jeffrey looked up at her. He could see how this was eating her up inside as much as it was him.
Jeffrey stood and stretched his arms up to the sky. He did not want to think about this anymore. He did not want to know that there were other kids like Jenny and Mark out there, being abused by their parents. He did not want to think about Dottie Weaver holding on to Lacey Patterson so she could exploit the child. Something had to give. Jeffrey did not think he could go on knowing that Dottie Weaver was out there doing whatever she wanted to children. He did not want to think about her preying on another small town somewhere.
He said, “It’s almost cool out here.”
“Isn’t the breeze nice? I’d forgotten what it was like.”
“It doesn’t bother you to be out here in the dark?”
“Why would it?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Sometimes I think you’re the strongest person I know.”
She smiled, indicating that he should sit beside her.
He sat in the chair with a groan. Jeffrey had not realized until that moment just how tired he was. He leaned his head back, looking up at the night sky. Clouds obscured the stars, and it looked like August was releasing its stranglehold on the thermometer. Fall would come soon, and the leaves would drop from the trees and the air would turn colder and Jenny Weaver would still be dead.
Jeffrey asked, “Did you release the body?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“What about the baby?”
“I talked to Brock. He’s donating the service. There’s a plot in the Roanoke Cemetery.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“I already took care of it,” she said. “Will you go to the service with me?”
“Yeah,” he answered, feeling it was the least he could do.
“Paul Jennings said to tell you to remember what he said.”
Jeffrey was silent.
“What did he say?”
“That I shouldn’t blame myself for what happened,” he told her. “That I shouldn’t make myself live with that guilt.”
She reached over and squeezed his arm. “He’s right.”
“He said I should blame Dottie.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Dave Fine blames Dottie, too.”
“It’s not the same thing,” she told him, sitting up in her chair. “Jeffrey, look at me….” She waited until he did. “You did what you had to do.”
“I stopped Jenny from killing Mark so that he could turn around and hang himself,” Jeffrey told her. “He still hasn’t regained consciousness. He might never.”
“And that’s your fault?” she asked him. “I never knew you were so powerful, Jeffrey.” She listed things out: “You made Jenny Weaver point a gun at Mark, you made Mark hang himself. Did you bring Dottie here, too? Did you make her abduct Lacey? Did you make Dottie work with Grace Patterson at that hospital? Did you make her do those things she did to children?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“But, you are,” she insisted. “If you want to blame somebody, blame me.”
He shook his head, saying, “No.”
“I saw all of them,” Sara pointed out. “I saw Mark and Lacey practically from the time they were born. Jenny was a patient of mine. Is it my fault?”
“Of course it’s not.”
“Then how is it yours?”
Jeffery leaned his head on his hand, not wanting Sara to see how upset he was. “You didn’t pull the trigger,” he said. “You didn’t kill her.”
Sara got out of her chair and knelt in front of him. She took his hands in hers and said, “You know how I told you I worry about you when I don’t know where you are and the phone rings?”
He nodded.
“I worry because I know you,” she said, squeezing his hands for emphasis. “I know what kind of cop you are, and what kind of man you are.”
“What kind of man am I?” he asked,
Her voice took on a softer tone. “The kind of man who wouldn’t hesitate to be the one to kick in that door instead of Lena. The kind of man who risks his life every day to make sure that other people are safe. I love that about you,” she insisted. “I love that you’re strong, and that you think things through, and that you don’t just react.” Sara put her hand to his cheek. “I love that you’re gentle, and that you worry about Lena, and that you feel responsible for everything that happens in town.”
He started to speak, but she pressed her finger to his lips so that he would not interrupt her. “I love you because you know how to comfort me and how to drive me crazy, and how to make my dad want to beat you to a pulp.” She lowered her voice. “I love how you touch me, and how safe I feel when I’m with you.” She kissed his hands. “You’re a good man, Jeffrey,” she told him. “Listen to Paul Jennings. Listen to me. You did the ri
ght thing.” She held his hands to her lips and kissed his fingers.
She said, “It’s okay to question yourself, Jeffrey. You did that, and now you have to move on.”
He looked out at the rocks jutting from the lake, and wondered if there would ever be a day in his life when he did not think of Jenny Weaver, and the role he had played in her death.
Sara told him, “You’re a good man, Jeffrey.”
He did not believe her. Maybe if he still didn’t feel pain in his knee from jumping Dave Fine, or remember how good it felt to kick Arthur Prynne in the gut, it would be easier. Maybe if he didn’t still see that set of frightened eyes from the back of the closet in Macon.
“Jeffrey,” Sara repeated. “You’re a good man.”
“I know,” he lied.
“Know it in here,” she told him, pressing her fingers to his chest.
Jeffrey brushed Sara’s hair back behind her ear, and all he could think to say was, “You’re so beautiful.”
Sara rolled her eyes at the compliment. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”
He offered, “Why don’t we go inside, and I’ll answer you in greater detail?”
Sara leaned back on her hands, a smile playing at her lips. “Why do we have to go inside?”
Friday
21
LENA GRITTED her teeth, pounding her feet into the pavement. She could hear Hank’s heavy footsteps behind her, his cheap Wal-Mart sneakers popping against the ground like a stick on an oil drum.
“That all you got?” he asked, pulling ahead of her. She let him take the lead for a while, watching him from behind. The sun did not agree with him, and rather than tanning, his pasty skin had taken on a reddish tone. The track marks on his forearms stood in a burgundy relief against this, and the back of his neck was as red as fire.
His breathing was more like a wheeze, but he held his own against her as she sped up to run beside him. His yellowish-gray hair was pasted to his head with sweat, and the turkey giblet hanging down from his neck bounced with each step he took. Still, Lena couldn’t help but think he wasn’t in bad shape for an old man. She had certainly seen worse.
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