He Never Forgot

by P. D. Workman

  “I don’t exactly remember being rescued… but I told Zachary… I can remember walking down the sidewalk and seeing someone walking a dog. I wanted to pet the dog.”

  “That must have been a very big step for you. For someone who had never seen an animal before, a dog could be a big scary thing.”

  “I guess Allen never told me they could be scary. So I wasn’t scared. I thought… that all dogs were friendly and nice.”

  “Ah. That makes sense. Still. Approaching a stranger and a strange beast that you’d never seen before seems like a really big step in your life.”

  Burton gazed off into the distance. He nodded.

  “Did the man walking the dog call the police? Did other people come to help?”

  “I guess. I just remember petting the dog.”

  Zachary could picture it. The thin little boy he had seen in the picture, stroking the big dog’s silky fur. Just enamored with the dog and ignoring the rest of what was going on around him.

  47

  There was a knock at the door, and Campbell entered. He must have been watching the interview on a monitor somewhere, and he had decided it was time for him to take over. Zachary still thought that there was more that Burton could remember, but he clearly wasn’t ready or willing to share it yet. Campbell hadn’t wanted to unwittingly color any of Burton’s memories prior to his working with Harriett, but probably felt that they had hit an impasse and it was time for him to move things forward with the information he had.

  Burton eyed Campbell and the thick folder in his hands warily. Campbell reintroduced himself and sat down.

  The file folder looked old. Like it had been in storage for many years. When Campbell opened it, it was filled not with perfect computer print-outs and photocopies, but lots of handwritten notes, carbon copies, and copies made on machines that were precursors to the modern laser and inkjet technology. Lots of different shades of gray and purple.

  Burton stared at the file, mesmerized.

  “This was the initial police investigation after you were discovered,” Campbell explained the obvious. “From the time that you appeared on that street, it was clear that something was wrong. You were alone, you were ragged and unkempt, and malnourished. The police were called and began their investigation.”

  Burton nodded.

  “You were several houses down the street from the house we searched yesterday. You were able to point it out to the officers who talked to you, letting them know that was where you had come from. You were only five and your speech wasn’t entirely clear—” Probably the result of the fact that he had been kept away from all human contact, “—but you were able to make yourself understood.”

  Campbell flipped through the dusty pages and lifted the edges of the top pages to show Burton fading photos of the house as it had been thirty years previously. Zachary looked at it curiously. It had not changed very much at all. The fence and the exterior of the home looked newer, but the shapes were still the same. There was not much vegetation. It was a summer picture, but there was no green grass, only brown, dusty, dead grass dotted with green weeds that had been able to force themselves up through the sod.

  There were no tricycles in the yard. There were no outdoor toys at all like a family with children would normally have. There was nothing to show that the children lived there.

  “The police investigated the owners—actually, the renters—of the home without making direct contact with them. They decided that there was enough to get a warrant to search the house. They had it under surveillance and, before they could get the warrant, the male subject was observed making his way down the street looking for something.”

  “Something?” Burton echoed.

  “Or someone. He was calling quietly, looking into neighboring yards, checking under cars that were up on blocks, into side yards, various places that a small boy might have been able to crawl. He was detained.”

  Burton’s eyes were wide. He again patted his pocket, but he’d thrown his flask away when they were out at the house. An action that he probably regretted now. He was used to anesthetizing his emotions, and now he couldn’t. Confronted with the reality of what would happen, he had no buffer to keep it at a comfortable distance.

  Campbell flipped through a few more pages, then displayed a photo to Burton of a man in his forties or fifties, in classic mugshot poses. Zachary studied the lines of the man’s face and hair. The same man who, thirty years later, had tried to break into Zachary’s car, but then made a run for it when the alarm had sounded? He hadn’t been close enough to see his features clearly.

  Burton’s mouth opened and closed. His face turned gray. He stared at the monster who had kept him in the basement all of those years ago. Sam. His biological father. Zachary touched him on the back, trying to steady him.

  “That’s him!” Burton said in a choked voice.

  Campbell nodded. It wasn’t obvious whether Burton remembered him, or whether he was just shocked at seeing the man for the first time after so many years.

  Campbell waited to see whether Burton would say anything further and, when he did not, Campbell continued. “As I said, the police were already in the process of getting a search warrant. They amended the application to add the new facts on the fly, and waited for it to be granted. It was not granted until the next morning when judges were back at their desks and in their courtrooms, but they had kept surveillance on the house to ensure that no one could escape before they had a chance to enter the premises.”

  Campbell showed a copy of the warrant that had been granted, but it didn’t have any effect on Burton.

  “At ten o’clock the next morning, police entered the house. Elizabeth Weaver, who was actually Elizabeth Dougherty, was still in the home. She had made an attempt to clean up any incriminating evidence but, as she had not had the opportunity to leave the house, everything was still on the property. Soiled rags, a bucket that had clearly been used for some time as a toilet, worn and ripped clothing. It was all logged into evidence.”

  Burton nodded mechanically. Zachary was expecting to see pictures of these items, but Campbell apparently thought that too cruel.

  “And the basement?” Zachary inquired.

  “The basement was a hole in the ground. Undeveloped. No floor. But a child had clearly been playing there. There were broken bits of plastic bottles or Corelle dishes that had been used as digging tools. Buttons and coins and other small objects that were toys.”

  And a bug jar behind the furnace that they hadn’t identified as something of value to little Bobby Weaver.

  And two names written on the wall out of sight, not just one.

  “The female subject was Mirandized, questioned, and gave a preliminary statement. She was arrested and remanded.”

  Campbell looked at Burton’s face, searching it. Burton gave a tiny nod, his eyes on the papers. Campbell released several pages so that the photo of Elizabeth Weaver fell into place.

  Zachary probably wouldn’t have recognized her. She bore little resemblance to the woman he had seen at Edith Johnson’s house. Her face and body looked wasted, her long blond hair oily and bedraggled. She had obviously not been at her best, waiting for the police to arrive. She had to have known that they would be arriving sooner or later. She had a distant look. An addict, Zachary suspected. Addicted to what? Heroin? She was better now. Maybe she had gotten cleaned up in prison. Bobby’s escape might have saved her life.

  Burton covered his face with both hands. He choked back sob after sob, trying to stop them, releasing one choked gasp after another.

  “It’s okay,” Zachary told him. “Do you need some time? Maybe a break…?” He looked at Campbell.

  Campbell shifted to get up, but Burton shook his head. “No,” he managed to gurgle out. “Get it done.”

  Campbell settled again. He looked at Zachary, then at the thick file before him. He waited for Burton to calm himself down.

  Burton wiped his nose. Zachary looked around the room and f
ound a tissue box and handed it to him. Burton blew and wiped and used several tissues to dab at his eyes, trying to slow the waterworks. He shook his head.

  “Why would I cry? I don’t care about her.”

  “No,” Zachary said softly. “You care about Allen. About what happened to him.”

  “They buried him in the floor!” This brought a fresh stream of tears. Burton looked at Campbell for confirmation. “He did it. He dug a hole and put Allen in it!”

  Campbell nodded wordlessly. Saying nothing that would change Burton’s recollection of the events, if he did, in fact, remember what had happened so long ago. It had been so traumatic, Zachary wondered if he would ever remember it in any detail. And it was best for him, perhaps, if he didn’t.

  “I dug holes. I buried things.” Burton wiped his eyes again and sucked back the mucus running down his nose and throat. “I wanted my Allen.” His entire body shuddered. “If I dug too close, he beat me. Told me he’d cut off my fingers. And he would have.”

  Burton put down his head, sobbing wildly. Zachary rubbed his back, murmuring soothing words that meant absolutely nothing to Burton.

  “So I just… sat down there. Sat and looked at where he was buried. Forever.”

  Zachary looked at Campbell, wondering if they had the medical examiner’s report yet. Had the bones shown a clear cause of death?

  Campbell correctly interpreted Zachary’s look. He closed the file and watched Burton, waiting to see if he would calm down. If Campbell should or shouldn’t discuss what they had discovered about Allen in the previous twenty-four hours.

  Burton grabbed another handful of tissues and tried to stanch the flow of tears and snot.

  “Do you know how Allen died?” Campbell asked quietly.

  48

  Burton’s eyes and nose were red and raw. He held cupped palms over his eyes, waiting, willing his body to stop. His Adam’s apple worked up and down.

  “We were sick. He gave me his food. He…” Burton’s mouth opened and closed, unconsciously simulating what he remembered. “I was getting better. But he couldn’t… he couldn’t feed me anymore. I tried to feed him.” Burton wiped his eyes. “He just laid there.”

  Zachary licked his dry lips, unable to take his eyes off of Burton. He opened his mouth to prompt Burton for more, but he couldn’t.

  “He buried him,” Burton said in a loud protest, skipping ahead in his story. “He dug a hole and…”

  Campbell opened a slim file. He laid it flat on the table before him, looking at Burton. “Allen got sick and died?” he asked, looking down at the white sheaf of papers.

  Burton shook his head. “Noooo…”

  “What happened?”

  Burton sniffled. “She did it.” He gulped. “Allen wouldn’t get up. She wanted him to…” Another sob and gulp. “…to carry the bucket up the stairs. But he wouldn’t get up. So she…”

  A child too weak to eat, and she had expected him to get up and carry the bucket of filth up the stairs for her. Zachary closed his eyes and shook his head. He thought of his own mother, how she would have reacted to a child she deemed to be oppositional.

  It had not only been his father who had beaten him.

  Zachary put his arm around Burton’s shoulders and hugged him close. “Okay.”

  Burton leaned into him, sobbing.

  Campbell closed the file again, nodding.

  “Will you be able to find them?” Zachary asked. He wiped at the corners of his own eyes, which seemed to be leaking.

  “We already have. Mr. O’Sullivan, your biker, knew how to reach them. They are in custody now. We wanted to know what Mr. Burton could remember before going any further.”

  Zachary let out a long breath.

  49

  Zachary rang the doorbell. He thought about his parting from Burton, driving him to the bus depot to go back home to his adoptive family. Burton was, as usual, on the edge of being drunk. He thanked Zachary for the work he had done and for helping him through the voyage of self-discovery. He slapped him heartily on the back and swore that he was going to go home and go to an AA group. He’d get on the wagon, and he’d get back on track with his life.

  Zachary doubted it would be that easy. But he smiled and encouraged Burton and shook his hand warmly one last time before he left.

  Maybe now that Sam and Elizabeth Dougherty were in custody facing charges of first degree murder and Burton knew what had happened in that house, he would find the strength inside himself to move on.

  And then Zachary got into the car and drove south again. He hadn’t made arrangements, but figured she would be home by the time he got there.

  But it was taking her a long time to answer the door, and he wondered if he should have called ahead. He hadn’t wanted to have to explain.

  Eventually, he could hear footsteps, and the door opened.

  Zachary looked up at Joss, a few inches above him. He stepped up over the threshold so that he would be at her level. Joss stepped back slightly, her forehead wrinkling.

  “Zachary? What are you doing here? What’s up?” There was an edge to her voice. She had told him before to set up a time, and not just show up on her doorstep. And, once more, he had disobeyed her instructions.

  Zachary put his arms around Jocelyn and squeezed.

  Her body went rigid and she tried to pull away. Zachary held on. Not so tightly that she couldn’t break his grip, but tightly enough to let her know that he wasn’t willing to relinquish his hold so quickly. She was still for a moment and then put her arms uncertainly around him.

  “Thank you,” Zachary murmured.

  “For what?” Joss demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “For being my big sister and looking after me. No matter what the consequences.”

  She didn’t move for a minute. Then she squeezed him to her. “Of course, Zachy. You’re my brother.”

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  Preview of She Was At Risk

  Chapter 1

  Zachary gazed out Kenzie’s living room window at the pleasant, suburban view. He hadn’t realized how much he was missing by living in apartment buildings instead of a nice little house like Kenzie had. When he stared out the window at his apartment, he saw nothing but sky, or looked down at the dirty parking lot, complete with homeless people going through the trash for bottles. He didn’t know his neighbors within the apartment building well. They were familiar enough to nod to in the elevator, but that was about it.

  What he was missing was the green lawns, the children walking to school, the flower borders and gardens. People smiling pleasantly each other when they passed on the street or even stopping to talk to each other. It was a postcard picture day, and unlike the way he felt when he looked at the typically Vermont trees and hills covered with snow as Christmas approached, it was a scene he could enjoy.

  Maybe he should have moved into a house like Kenzie’s. Maybe sometime in the future, he would. Maybe with the way that his relationship was progressing with Kenzie…

  He pulled his thoughts away from the possibility. He didn’t want to presume on anyone’s kindness. He had lived with Mario after his previous apartment had burned down, and it was better to be on his own two feet. He got lazy relying on someone else to do the work and keep him on track.

  The thought stirred Zachary, and he got up and went into the kitchen. He put in a pod and made himself a cup of coffee and poked his head out of the kitch
en for a moment to listen and try to decide whether Kenzie was up yet. He couldn’t hear her stirring. No point in making her coffee before she was up, it would just be cold by the time she got to it.

  But while he was in the kitchen, he rinsed the dishes that were sitting in the sink, put them into the dishwasher, and wiped the counter, eliminating the rings from his previous cups of coffee. He put the washcloth back in its place and gave himself a mental pat on the back for at least doing something to help keep Kenzie’s place tidy.

  Fresh coffee in hand, Zachary returned to his place in Kenzie’s living room. Since he was there most weeknights now, he had asked Kenzie whether she minded him getting a mobile laptop table that he could use while he was sitting on the couch or in the easy chair, if he kept his space tidy and it didn’t detract from the decor of the room.

  Kenzie shook her head, bemused. “Sure, of course. You should have some kind of desk instead of sitting hunched over that thing all the time. It’s not good for your body.”

  He was often sore after a couple of hours sitting with it, so he knew she was right. “I just… didn’t want to presume.”

  Kenzie shrugged. “Of course. You’re here. I like having you around, having… a few touches that remind me of you when you’re out. I don’t mind at all.”

  So he had browsed online until he found one that he liked, and it had been a good purchase. He could sit and type, read documents, or browse databases with better posture, which helped to keep him going for as long as he needed to.

  Zachary’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He slid it out to look at it, and felt frown lines crease his forehead.

  Gordon Drake.

  Gordon didn’t have any reason to be calling Zachary. Zachary had stayed away from Bridget, his ex-wife. He hadn’t been following her or spying on her. They hadn’t accidentally run into each other anywhere.