Piercing the Darkness (62 page)

Well, this Tuesday things were a little different. The
Clarion
’s tough, whip-cracking editor was gone on an assignment—he never was clear about its exact nature—but that didn’t mean there would be any vacation. Actually, because Marshall was such a hard worker, it meant more work than before, and Bernice Krueger, now filling Marshall’s shoes, could be just as tough, demanding, and efficient as her boss.

So, Tuesday was rolling along at a brisk pace, everyone was there, hard at work, and Bernice never seemed to be in one room or chair for any more than two minutes at one time. With papers, galleys, or a cup of coffee in her hand, she was constantly running to the front to check a traffic revision story Cheryl was trying to get out of the county road crew, then charging to the back with more copy for George to typeset, then running into Marshall’s glass-enclosed office to answer phone calls, then running up to the front desk to wait on a customer because Cheryl was busy taking an ad over the phone.

I
am
going to visit with Betty Smith
, Bernice kept telling herself.
So
help me, when my lunch comes, or before that, or during break, or sometime, I’m going to sit down and visit with her; she must think I’m so rude, inviting her here just to ignore her!

But so far “Betty Smith” was not feeling slighted or snubbed. She was sitting in the teletype room, watching the news stories come clattering in over the news wire. For the last half-hour it had been interesting—for the last few minutes it had been riveting. She now held a particular news story in her hand, and she was devouring the news.

“WESTHAVEN—Federal District Judge Emily R. Fletcher today ruled that a ten-year-old child, key witness in the much publicized Good Shepherd Academy child abuse case, would not be required to testify or be examined by defense psychologists, agreeing with the plaintiff’s attorneys that such further questioning and examining of the child could prove harmful.

“Citing expert evaluations offered by psychologist Dr. Alan Mandanhi, Judge Fletcher concluded that the mental state of the child is in such a tender and vulnerable state because of the alleged abuses that any further recounting of them would do even greater damage.

“‘We are here to speak for the children,’ she said, ‘and protect them from abuse. We cannot justify even further abuse in the cause of preventing it.’”

Several daily newspapers from around the country lay ready on the table for Bernice’s perusal when she got the chance. Sally reached for the one on the top of the stack, a large newspaper from the West Coast. She found nothing about the case on the front page, but the second page did carry a story, along with a nonflattering courtroom photograph of Tom Harris and his attorney. The description under the photograph identified them as “alleged child abuser Tom Harris and attorney Wayne Corrigan.”

It was all bad news for the Good Shepherd Academy.

She found an editorial in the second newspaper. The ACFA could not have written it better.

“This will be a precedent-setting case, interpreting the Federal Day-care and Private Primary School Assistance Act, and defining whether the state may breach the wall of separation in order to protect innocent children from harm done in the name of religious freedom.

“Freedom of religion is part of our heritage, but freedom of religion
does not mean freedom to abuse. It is our hope that this case will establish once and for all a binding legal and social mandate that religious practice, though free, must never violate the laws of the state, but be subject to the state for the good of all.”

It sounded so virtuous, so American, so right. But the writer had never met Amber Brandon. None of the journalists across the country had ever looked into those demon eyes and heard that mocking, accusing voice. They’d never been a victim of the wrath and ruination Sally’s former associates could dish out. Instead, as if on cue, they were writing, reporting, selecting, and interpreting the same ideas and opinions, as if the same instructor taught them all.

I can’t stay here
, Sally thought.
I have to move on. I have to finish.

“Hey, Betty!” It was Bernice, standing in the doorway looking a bit frazzled. “I’m sorry it’s such a madhouse around here, but I think I’m caught up for the time being. Are you keeping yourself occupied?”

Sally set the newspaper down. “Oh, I was reading the newspaper and the items coming in over the wire. It’s been interesting.”

Bernice could tell she was bothered about something. “How are you doing?”

Sally evaded the question. “I think there’s a bus leaving in an hour. I need to be on it.”

“Moving on so soon?”

“Could I have . . . Would it be okay if I had your address and telephone number? I’d like to be able to contact you later on.”

“Sure thing.” Bernice wrote it down on a slip of paper.

“Oh, and the
Clarion
’s address too?”

Bernice wrote that down as well, and handed it to her. Then she looked for a moment at the trouble in Sally’s eyes. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Sally thought for a moment with a timid smile on her face. “Well . . . you could pray for me. You never know, it might work.”

Cheryl called from the front, “Bernice, it’s Jake’s Auto Repair on the phone . . .”

“I’ll call them back.”

“He’s leaving in ten minutes. He needs to talk to you now.”

Bernice was obviously frustrated, and looked at Sally apologetically. “Listen, after this call we’ll just get out of here. I’ll take you to
lunch, all right?”

Sally smiled. That was all. “Um . . . is there a Post Office around here?”

“Sure, just two blocks up the street on the right-hand side. It’s on the way to the bus station. I can drop you by there.”

“Great.”

“Give me a second, okay?”

Bernice hurried into Marshall’s office and took the call from Jake’s Auto Repair. Jake could talk and talk about the same thing over and over as if he had nothing else to do with his time and no one else did either. “Okay, sure, we’ll change the ad in Saturday’s issue, all right?” He went back to the beginning and started the conversation all over again, and Bernice mouthed the words, “No, listen, you already told me that. We’ll take care of it for Friday.” He started squawking. “Well, that issue’s already out, it’s history, we can’t change that now.” She pounded the desk with her fist. This guy was impossible! “All right, listen, Jake, you know our deadlines just like everybody else; don’t give me that! You’ll get the change on Friday. Yes, that’s a guarantee. Hey, didn’t you tell Cheryl you had to leave in ten minutes? You’re late. Good-bye.”

She hung up and bolted from the office, grabbing her coat. “Okay, Betty, let’s get out of here! Betty?”

She went into the teletype room. Betty was gone. She stepped into the hall. “Cheryl?”

“Yo!”

“Where’s Betty?”

“She left.”

That stung. Bernice’s first question to herself was,
What did I do? Oh brother, it’s what I didn’t do! That poor gal. I don’t blame her. I shouldn’t have invited her into this madhouse!

She dashed out to the street, but Betty Smith was nowhere in sight. Bernice’s initial thought was to run after her, or get the car and try to find her, but then that thought melted away as a more practical one took its place:
This is probably the way she wants it. It’s just the way she is, poor thing. Oh well. Maybe she’ll write or call sometime.

Maybe. Bernice felt terrible.

She went back inside.

Tom came out from the back room. “Say, what about that ad for
Jake? Cheryl says you talked to him.”

“We’re rewording it. Cheryl has the new copy, so tell George to set it right away.”

“All right. But what about that aluminum can drive? Are you sure you want that on
page 3
?”

Bernice kept moving down the hall, her mind occupied. “Change Jake’s ad first, and then I’ll take a look at
page 3
.”

“Well, I need to know—”

“Just give me a second, will you?”

Tom turned on his heels and headed toward the back again. Bernice ducked into the teletype room knowing she owed Tom an apology.

She plopped into the chair Betty Smith had sat in, and took just a moment to pray.
Lord, I could have done better. I could have given her my time. I should have done more to tell her about You . . .
Doggone! What a lousy way for this to end!

Her eye caught the wire copy lying on the table, an item from Westhaven . . .

Westhaven? She snatched up the wire copy and scanned it. Yes. It was the latest news on the Good Shepherd Academy case in Bacon’s Corner!

THE WARRIOR TRISKAL
stood in the teletype room with her, just watching. He had his orders, and now the time was right. He gently touched her eyes.

Okay, Bernice. Time for you to see.

BERNICE SAW THE
newspaper opened to the editorial page. She saw the editorial. Good Shepherd Academy. Bacon’s Corner.

Betty had been reading about that case! Is this why she seemed so troubled, so secretive? A lone woman, traveling, elusive . . .

It was like a stab through the heart. Hadn’t Marshall told her about some woman they were trying to find?

She bolted from the room and dashed into Marshall’s office.

BEV COLE TURNED
off her vacuum cleaner and answered the phone. “Hello?”

Bernice was frantic. “Is this the Cole residence?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is Marshall Hogan there? This is his assistant at the
Ashton Clarion
, Bernice Krueger.”

“Oh, he’s out right now. I can have him call you.”

“Well, who am I talking to?”

“This is Bev Cole.”

“Do you know anything about the Good Shepherd Academy case?”

“Oh boy, do I!”

“What about that woman that’s missing? Do you know anything about that?”

“Oh, you mean Sally Roe?”

Bernice recognized the name. “Yes! That’s the one! Do you know what she looks like?”

Bev stumbled a bit on that one. “Well . . . we’ve never met her in person. All we have is a bunch of police and newspaper photos, and they aren’t very good . . .”

“Does she have long, black hair?”

“No, I think her hair’s red.”

“What about her age?”

“I think she’s about thirty-six now.”

“Can you send me those pictures?”

“You want me to mail them to you?”

“Can you fax them? I need them right
now.
”

Bev was getting flustered. “Well, the only fax machine is down at Judy’s Secretarial, and Ben’s gone with the car.”

Bernice gave Bev the
Clarion
’s fax number. “Get them to me right away, as soon as you can, all right? Send me everything you have on her. And have Marshall call me.”