There was only one place left to check.
The bedroom.
He went inside and turned on the light.
The light bulb sprang to life and then went off with an audible pop.
“Fuck,” muttered Sam.
He hesitated in the doorway, unsure if he should go hunt down another light bulb or check the room first. He looked down the hallway toward the hall closet, where the light bulbs were kept. He imagined going down the hall, bending down inside the closet, looking for the bulb.
And Todd being behind him, dragging his bloody sleeves along the wall, laughing.
Sam sucked in breath.
He lurched into the bedroom.
Light filtered in from the hallway, but the room was a mass of shadows. The bed was unmade. He could see the dark outlines of the pushed-aside covers.
A television was sitting on the dresser, but half of the drawers on the dresser were open, clothes spilling out of them. Clothes littered the floor too. He hadn’t exactly been clean since Daphne left.
Sam picked his way over the clothes.
He made his way over to the closet. It was open, but he couldn’t see anything in there. Todd could be in there, could be standing amongst the hanging jeans and shirts.
Sam was so close that Todd could simply reach out and grab him.
There’s no one here, he told himself fiercely.
This was stupid. He was going to go get the other light bulb. Once the light was on in this room, he’d see that there was nothing here, and everything would be fine.
Hell, he’d even check under the bed.
The bed.
He hadn’t checked under the bed in the guest room.
Sam slowly turned to face the door, expecting to see the shadowy outline of someone there—
No. It would block the light.
There wasn’t anyone else in this house, damn it.
Crash.
Sam whirled, his heart speeding up even more.
That sound had come from outside, from the porch.
He cast around for something, for a weapon, for…
He sprinted out of the bedroom, back down the hall, back through the living room and into the kitchen.
He yanked open drawers.
Which one was it?
God damn it, why couldn’t he remember?
There.
Knives.
Sam selected the biggest one he could find, its serrated edges winking at him.
He went to the window and peered outside.
But it was dark out there, and the whole house was lit up like a carnival. He couldn’t see anything.
He went over to the door and flipped the switch to turn on the light on the porch.
The outdoor light illuminated everything in sickly blue.
There wasn’t anyone there.
But one of the chairs was on its side.
The wind? Had the wind knocked it over?
Should he go out on the porch to investigate?
He went over to the front door, put his hand on the deadbolt.
No.
No, if there was someone out there, if Todd was out there, Sam didn’t want to tangle with him again.
It was probably only the wind.
Sam shut his eyes.
Shit.
He had to know.
He clenched his teeth. He brandished his knife. He unlocked the door.
He eased his way out onto the porch.
It was cold. The air numbed his fingers and took his breath away.
There was no one out here, not unless that person was hiding out in the darkness beyond the circle of the porch light.
Sam went over to the railing. He raised his knife, showing it to anyone who might be out there.
And then he turned over the other chair, so that the wind couldn’t knock it over too.
Because it had been the wind.
It had to have been the wind.
He retreated back into his house, but he couldn’t sleep.
He sat on the couch, clutching the knife, staring out the window.
Until the sun came up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The phone was ringing.
Sam had barely been asleep for four hours, but the phone was ringing.
It was inside his pants’ pocket, and it was vibrating and squawking at him, and Sam hated the damned thing.
He should just turn it off.
But he was awake now.
He groaned, sitting up on the couch. He answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Black?”
“Speaking.” He rubbed his eyes. Augh, why had he slept on the couch?
Then he looked around and saw all the lights were on. Right. He’d been afraid. He was a chickenshit coward, and he’d been too afraid to sleep.
“This is Mia Barton,” said the woman on the other end. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I’ve been crazy busy lately, but I just went through my old messages, and I see that you tried to get in touch with me.”
Sam got off the couch. Mia Barton? Who the hell was Mia Barton? He needed to get to his notes now. “Oh, right, great, Ms. Barton. I’m so happy you called back.”
“You can call me Mia,” she said. “Everyone does.”
“Mia.” He rushed back the hall, careening into his office. “Well, call me Sam.”
“Okay, Sam. What can I help you with?”
“Well…” Sam paged through his notebook, looking for his list of interviewees. Oh. There it was. He ran a finger over the list. There she was. “You were Lola Ward’s social worker.”
“Lola Ward?” Mia said the name as if it were unfamiliar to her. “I suppose I could have been. I’ve been working here for years. I’ve been the social worker for a lot of people.”
She didn’t remember Lola? “Lola Ward was a pretty high profile case. Her parents were murdered. She was kidnapped by the killer.”
“Oh,” said Mia. “Right. Yes, I do remember that.”
“Well, I’m working on a book about Lola Ward and the murders. And I was calling to see if you’d be willing to answer a few questions.”
“A book?”
“That’s right. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Stolen, but that’s my book. Now I’m writing about Lola.”
“Well, Sam, I don’t think I can really help you. It wouldn’t be professional for me to talk about Lola’s situation. I’m supposed to keep her private information, well, private. I can’t talk to you about the specifics of her case. They aren’t meant for public consumption.”
Right, right, right. This wasn’t Sam’s first rodeo, and he knew about this sort of thing. Generally, he was good at getting around it, convincing people to talk anyway. But this morning, he was sleep deprived and a little bit hungover. He dragged a hand over his face. “Of course, I understand that. But I don’t need to know anything too personal here. I’m interviewing Lola herself for that kind of thing.”
“Oh, you’re in contact with her?”
“Yeah, she asked me to write the book. It’s with her approval.” Of course, after the blowout in the parking lot with the reporters, he wasn’t sure that was true. He was surprised that Mia Barton didn’t know this. She must not watch the news very often. He decided to try a tricky tactic, one that might not work but was worth a try. “Basically, all I’m looking for is a confirmation of a few of her claims. Generally speaking, I wouldn’t need that, but the thing about Lola is that she’s got a very unique public persona. A lot of people don’t think she’s trustworthy. So, what I’m trying to do is to reassure the readers that they can trust her by verifying facts with someone official.”
“I see,” said Mia.
Sam grinned. “Yeah, so, um, basic stuff, right? Lola says that her first foster home was…” He made a show of riffling through papers loudly. “Oh, man, I’ve got this written down somewhere. I’m sorry, you caught me off guard.”
“The Hendersons?” said Mia.
“That’s right,” said S
am, smiling. “The Hendersons. So, you’ve confirmed that for me, excellent. How long you got her staying with them?” He scribbled down the name.
“Oh, I don’t know off the top of my head,” said Mia. “I’d have to look that up. I happen to remember the Hendersons fairly well. Jamie and Lucas definitely had an interesting time with her.”
“Right,” said Sam, writing down their first names too. Well, this was going well. “Uh, let’s see, just a couple other things, then? Lola says she wasn’t able to stay with her aunt, because Sabrina Calhoun was deemed unfit?”
“I don’t remember anything about an aunt. I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine. It’s not important. I met the aunt, so I’ve had the chance to interview her.” What else did he want to ask her? “Just one last thing, I suppose. Any indication that Lola’s parents were abusive?”
“What?” Mia said. “Is she saying that? Is that her defense against what she did?”
“So, you didn’t have any indication of that?”
“Well, no,” said Mia. “Her parents were murdered, right? Is she saying that’s why she did it?”
“Then you believe that she was involved in the murder of her parents,” said Sam.
Mia got quiet, seeming to realize she’d been tricked into saying more than she wanted to say. “I really couldn’t comment on that, I’m afraid. That’s not my job. My job was to make sure that she was placed in a safe environment, that’s all.”
“Of course,” said Sam.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I have much more time. I’ve really got to get going.”
“Certainly.” Sam listened to her sever the connection. Still got it, he thought. Even on four hours sleep, I still got it.
* * *
Lucas Henderson had red hair and a big red beard. He and Jamie lived in Berkeley Springs in an old farmhouse. There were chickens wandering around the front yard, even in the cold.
Lucas had his beefy arms folded above his ample gut. “Look, we got no reason to talk to you.”
“I’m just interested in what you know about Lola,” said Sam, smiling at him in what he hoped was a reassuring way.
“Well, I’m not interested in talking about it.” Lucas’s nostrils flared.
Damn it. This was not going well. He’d done so well at manipulating Mia Barton into giving him the names of the foster family, and now he was blowing it. Sam kept the smile plastered on his face. “If you’re concerned about your anonymity, I’d be happy to keep your names out of it.”
“We don’t talk to the press about our kids,” said Lucas.
“I’m not the press,” said Sam. “I’m a biographer. It’s completely different.”
“I saw you on the news,” said Lucas. “You’re not here with Lola’s permission.”
“Sure I am,” said Sam. “Lola and I had a bit of a scuffle, but we’ve made up now. I’m writing this book about her, aren’t I?” Man, if he had to drive all the way back to Harpers Ferry with nothing, he was going to be pissed. At least he could still write off the gas on his taxes. That is, if he had a receipt, which he didn’t think he had… Damn it.
“If you are, that probably makes it worse,” said Lucas. “I bet Lola told you all kinds of lies about us, didn’t she? What did she say about my family?”
“Uh…” Well, she hadn’t really mentioned anything about foster care. “She said her time here was interesting.” That was actually what Mia Barton had said, but it was close enough.
Lucas’s tone was sharp. “Well, that’s all you’re going to hear about it, then.”
A voice from within. “Lucas? Who is it?”
Lucas turned around. “I’m taking care of it, Jamie.”
“Mrs. Henderson?” called Sam hopefully. “I’m Samson Black. I’m writing a book about Lola Ward. I hoped to speak to you and your husband.”
Lucas clenched his teeth. “You need to get off my property, sir. We’re not interested, and I’ve made that clear.”
A woman appeared next to Lucas. She was much shorter than him, but her hair was also red. She was also just as plump. She looked back and forth between her husband and Sam. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Black. Lucas just plain doesn’t like talking about Lola. You have a nice day now.” She held out her hand to shake.
Sam’s shoulders slumped. He really wasn’t going to get anything out of these people. Dejected, he shook Jamie Henderson’s hand.
To his surprise, there was something in her hand.
A folded-up piece of paper.
She was trying to give him something.
He closed his fingers around it, shoving his hand into his pocket. He hoped it wasn’t obvious that he had something in his hand.
Lucas glared at him.
Sam cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll be going, then. So sorry to have disturbed you.”
He waited until he got back to his car to open the piece of paper. Angus and Ale, it said. One hour.
* * *
Angus and Ale was a bar and restaurant in Berkeley Springs. Sam had to look it up on his phone to find it, but once he did, he went in, got a table, got a beer, and waited. In about an hour, Jamie Henderson arrived. She stood in the doorway, clutching her purse and looking around the restaurant nervously.
Sam waved her over, and she scurried to his table.
“Sorry about being so discreet about this,” she said. “It’s only that Lucas doesn’t like to talk about Lola much. Well, at all.”
“It’s all right,” said Sam. “I’m happy to get anything, just so this trip out here isn’t a waste. But I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your husband.”
“No, you won’t,” she said. “I’d appreciate if you kept my name out of your book, though. Lucas’s too. And if you could do anything to keep us from being identified, that would be good too. He’s really nervous about the possible consequences of what happened, even now. But I think people need to know the truth about that girl.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “The truth?”
Jamie nodded. “Oh yeah. She’s a wicked little thing. Least, she used to be. I can’t speak for her now.”
Sam pulled out his recorder. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Mrs. Henderson?”
Jamie chewed on her lip. “You’ll keep our name out of it?”
“Of course.”
“Well.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s see. Lucas and I, we knew Lola’s story when we took her in. We had another girl about Lola’s age at the time, and an older boy. They sent her to us because we take in a lot of troubled adolescents. It’s sort of our calling, I guess you’d say. One day, when we were younger, Lucas and I just both felt like God was really telling us to devote our lives to this. And we been doing it ever since.”
“Very admirable of you,” said Sam, inwardly rolling his eyes. God told them, his ass.
“We were expecting her to be pretty traumatized,” Jamie continued. “And we did our best to make sure she was comfortable. And at first, everything seemed to be going okay. But then we started to have, well, issues with Lola and the other boy who was there. He was probably about sixteen, a little troubled. His mother had been a prostitute in Martinsburg and done God-knows-what-all drugs. We’d had him for about two years, though, and he was doing okay, you know. But, well, there started to be… things going on between them.”
“You mean romantically?” said Sam.
“I wouldn’t quite call it romance,” said Jamie. “We caught the two of them…” She made a disgusted face.
“Having sex?”
“Oral sex,” said Jamie. “She was doing it to him.”
Sam nodded.
“Well, the boy was easily led astray,” said Jamie. “Even though we’d been taking him to youth group twice a week ever since he’d moved in with us, and he knew that God wanted him to stay pure for marriage, he couldn’t resist that girl’s wiles.”
“Are you sure Lola was the aggressor?”
“Oh, positive,” said Jamie.
“The boy told us that she was.”
Right. Well, in that case, there could be no doubt. But Sam only nodded.
“Well, we did our best to put a stop to it,” said Jamie. “Everything we knew to do to keep them apart. But we couldn’t be all places all the time, and they found their ways. And if that had been the extent of it, well, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. Those kids are all looking for love, you know, and they get confused because sex feels so good, they think it’s love. So, you can’t fault them too hard for that kind of thing. Not really. So, we weren’t trying to get rid of Lola at that point or anything.”
“Or the other boy,” said Sam, just to be contrary.
“Oh, of course not him,” said Jamie. “Well, anyway, that boy started changing right before our eyes. He started doing things that were very out of character.”
Now Sam found himself interested. This was beginning to sound more like what Patrick and the rest of Todd’s friends had said about Todd. “What kind of things?”
“Stealing things, mostly. Things for her. Anything she wanted, he found ways to get it. And then one night, he tried to steal the car—our car—and run off with her.”
“I guess he wasn’t successful?”
“Of course not. Lucas stopped him the minute he realized what was going on. But that Lola girl, she was angry. I never seen someone so angry. She started screaming and cussing up and down at Lucas. And she started saying things to him. She said that if he didn’t let her go, she was going to accuse him of…” Jamie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Of molesting her. She said everyone would believe her, and no one would believe him, and that he would go to jail.”
Sam furrowed his brow. Interesting.
Jamie examined her fingernails. “Well, Lucas told her that he wasn’t going to listen to her lies, and he told her to go to her room. And of course, she wouldn’t. She was sitting on the steps. I went over to her, and I grabbed her by the arms, and I started to try to pull her up to her feet. But she starts yelling. Screaming that I’m hurting her. And she starts begging the boy, the one she had all twisted in the brain, to help her.
“Well,” Jamie continued, “he started for me, but Lucas stopped him before he could touch me. And since I couldn’t get her off the steps, and the two of them were threatening the both of us, we had to bring in the authorities.
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