Satan’s Lambs (31 page)

Lena leaned her head against the seat, frowning, conscious of the deep mumble of male voices, movements outside the van. She opened her eyes. She felt it all at once—awareness—the inaudible heartbeat, the working synapses of another brain, the smell of another human being. She wasn't alone in the van.

Lena raised up on her knees. She grabbed hold of the headrest and looked into the back. Something—someone?—huddled under plastic, not moving. And there, at the edge, could it be a small finger?

It could.

Lena scrambled over the back of the seat, leaving muddy footprints, snagging the lush velvet with the eyelets on her tennis shoes.

Things
in the van—boxes she did not want to look into, shovels with mud clumped in the middle, black candles, lengths of rope, enamel bowls. Things she barely noticed. Details that would come up later, at night, in her dreams.

Crouching beside the plastic, she almost lost her nerve.

It was a garbage bag, the big size, for garden work and grass clippings. The plastic crackled when she peeled it away.

Lena's stomach muscles clenched. She had looked so long, and wanted so bad—how odd to find little Charlie at last.

And no doubt it was him—straight blond hair, finger stuck in his mouth. The eyes, shut tight, would be blue if they were open. And, best of all, the rise and fall of his chest, letting her know that, yes, he was alive—drugged, deeply asleep, but alive.

She held him in her lap and rocked him, just as she had little Kevin, the night she found him dead but still warm in his bed.

49

Eloise Valetta had an inner glow; she moved in a haze of happiness. Charlie peeped out from behind her legs, finger in his mouth. He wore a pair of beige overalls, and the blue bunny was tucked down in the front.

“We're
almost
ready.” Eloise sounded breathless. “Just one more … come on in, Lena. Here, let me help you with that. How'd you get it up the stairs by yourself?”

Lena shoved the box into the living room.

Eloise shut the door and locked it. “That door's gotten warped or something. It won't close right anymore.”

Charlie stayed in her orbit—or she in his—neither of them letting more than a foot of space come between them. It seemed unconscious, their dance.

“What's in the box?” Eloise asked.

“Umm … Nothing much,” Lena said. She had spent all night sorting, packing carefully. “You may not even want it.”

“What?” Eloise moved close to the box, Charlie close close close beside her.

“You may not really, Eloise.” Lena clasped her hands behind her back. “Some people might feel funny about it. It's my nephew's things. Some clothes and toys he had. They're hardly used, some of them. I thought you might …”

Eloise nodded, gracious now, almost shy. “I think Charlie and I would be pleased to have them.”

“Would you, then?” Lena let out a deep breath. “Good. These are toys, in here. The clothes are down in the car. Two boxes. Can I bring them up?”

“I'll help you.”

“No, you and Charlie go on and get ready. It's about four hours to Nashville. Long ride for counseling.”

“It's pretty nice of her to do it.” Eloise's voice went low and thick. “We don't even know what-all Charlie been through.”

“You and Charlie will like her, I think. Walt thought she'd be the best one to talk to. It's kind of a speciality of hers.”

But Eloise wasn't listening. She was watching Charlie, who peeped cautiously into the box of toys.

Lena and Delores Criswold stood in the hallway and watched through the glass partition. No two-way nonsense here. If you were observed, you knew it.

The playroom was bright—so many windows. The carpet was thick and yellow. The shelves were stacked with toys and books. There were child-sized tables and chairs, big pillows on the floor, giant stuffed animals in one corner. Eloise sat quietly, safe security in the corner.

“Usually, we have the moms go somewhere else,” Delores said. “But I think, in this case, we'll hold off on that. For now, I just want him to think of this as a happy, safe place. And it's interesting, seeing them together.”

Charlie had spent a long time on his mother's lap, and Eloise had rocked him and waited, letting him decide when to move. He had ventured out finally, and worked in the clay, building a stick figure, which he was now burying under a pile of blocks.

“She knows enough to let him be,” Delores said, looking at Eloise. “I don't want to sound like Mary Poppins, but I think she and I can bring him through this in one piece. It makes such a difference—dealing with it now, instead of years later, when the scars have worn groove after groove.” She looked at Lena. “How's the legal end? Will Charlie have to testify in court?”

Lena shrugged. “No telling. The DA is iffy on it, but he doesn't like a four-year-old witness. I'm not even sure we'll make the grand jury. Hayes won't testify, and there may be trouble with the kidnapping charges. But everybody is blaming everybody else, so Mendez is hoping they'll turn on each other. Hayes is coming on like a victim.” Lena looked at Delores. “Walt Caron says Hayes
is
a victim.”

“Walt Caron is a nice boy,” Delores said dryly.

“Most of the people they hauled in aren't going to be charged.” Lena grimaced. “The four in the van are up on kidnapping, and some of the others on minor drug charges and child endangerment. And Enoch got away.” Lena glanced at Delores. “You don't seem surprised.”

“I'm not. What will happen to Hayes?”

“No telling. LaRue County still has him. He's under a full-cash bond for one hundred thousand dollars. They're holding him on some kind of trumped-up drug charge. They're going to try and stick him with kidnapping, but Mendez doesn't think it'll go. And Louisville PD wants Hayes as a witness—they're gunning for Enoch. They've got a file full of crimes they'd like to snag Enoch on. So far, Hayes isn't cooperating, but they figure he'll break. Mendez thinks Hayes will be dead twenty-four hours out of custody, or back in the general prison population. So they're hoping he'll see it their way.”

“It might be worth it,” Delores said. “To get Enoch. Melody mentioned him now and then.”

“Not if Jeff comes out to the good. He's got special solitary protection. If you can believe it.”

“I believe it.”

Lena looked back through the glass. Charlie had found a box of construction paper and was tearing purple paper into bits.

“I can pay for some of this,” Lena said.

“No. This is for me and Melody. Making something right.”

“You always get that close with your patients?”

Delores snorted. “Not and survive. Some of them, I don't want to know better. Bad thing to admit, isn't it?” Delores glanced at Lena. “How about you? How do you feel about things?”

Lena looked back in the playroom, watching Charlie. She thought of Kevin and how he would have loved the giant stuffed animals. She felt a dull throb of regret.

“I feel good,” Lena said. “I'm done with it now. This is all over for me.”

Delores looked at her sharply, but said nothing.

50

Lena was tired when she pulled into her driveway. The trip back from Nashville had been tedious, with numerous stops for Charlie, who was restless in the car, too exhausted to sleep. He had finally nodded off a few miles out of town—he and Eloise both.

The porch light was on, just like she'd left it. Lena noticed, even in the darkness, how high the grass had grown. The house looked neglected.

The relief that had come with finding Charlie had somehow ebbed away and she felt a flat depression. Lena reached into the back seat for the cake Eloise had insisted on giving her. She could be nasty, and give the cake to Rick. A gift, she would tell him, for keeping the cat—then he'd never get his shirt tucked in. She would give him all of Eloise's cakes. He would get fat, and she would be skinny.

The house seemed empty; she was missing her cat. Tomorrow she would go and get Maynard. She locked the front door. Her home was her own again finally, no midnight visitors slipping in and out.

Lena dropped the cake off in the kitchen and went upstairs to change her clothes. She would take a shower, put on the old football jersey, have a glass of wine, and curl up for a while with a book. Tomorrow she would sleep as long as she wanted. Charlie was home; no worries at last.

She went through the bedroom doorway and stopped. It was funny, in a way, because before, she had always had a sense, some prickly feeling, whenever someone had been in the house. This time, she hadn't had a clue. Lena crossed to the bed that she never bothered to make, and stared at the tangle of blankets and sheets.

Scattered in the middle were seashells—seashells by the dozen—gritty with sand and unpolished, smelling of the sea and the sun. She picked up a shell that had slipped to the floor. She felt a cold stillness inside her, like a disease that would never be cured.

Lena stood by the bed for a long while, too many thoughts in her head. She reached for the phone to call Mendez, then pulled her hand away. She thought of Melody, of herself standing in the hallway and telling Delores Criswold that everything was over. She thought of Maynard and Rick and Judith, then of Whitney and Kevin, and her unborn niece. Then she thought of Jeff. That thought drove out all the others.

Lena went back to the kitchen and ate the cake.

51

The bank had unlocked its doors only minutes before, and the employees were slow moving, sleepy. Lena got in line for the same teller she'd used the last time she'd withdrawn all her money. F. Breeding. That time had been for Jeff, too.

The man ahead of her made his deposit, then slowly tucked the receipt in a worn plastic wallet. Lena stepped closer.

The teller recognized her and smiled warily. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Lena said. “I'm closing out both my accounts, checking and savings, and I want everything in cash.”

“Again?” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He blushed.

“Again.”

“I see. May I have your—”

Lena slid a piece of paper across the counter. “Account numbers.”

“Yes ma'am.” He bent over his terminal. “Let's see … the balance of your savings account is eighty-nine thousand, nine hundred thirty-two dollars. The checking account …” He cleared his throat. “Seems to have a negative balance. Twenty-seven dollars and forty-nine cents.”

Lena frowned. “Take what you need to from savings. The rest I want in cash.”

“You wouldn't prefer a cashier's check? Or—”

“No,” Lena said. “But feel free to let Mr. Franklin in on this. That's the procedure, right?”

“He'll just want to ask you a couple of questions; shouldn't take more than a minute. I'll just go let him know, and then we'll get your money together.”

The teller smiled again and passed through a swing door to a corridor lined with offices. Lena dug in her purse for her checkbook, then studied the register, wondering how she'd come up short. She flipped the thin pages backward, but could not concentrate on the figures. The only thing she was sure of was that the checkbook had not been balanced for three months.

The teller walked softly. Lena didn't hear him till he was back behind the counter.

“Ms. Padget? Mr. Franklin's office is this way.” He led her through the swing doors, across thick beige carpet, to a mahogany door sporting a brass plate that said Franklin, Asst. Mgr. He knocked, then opened the door.

Franklin and his desk were both large, both decked out with a great deal of expense. Franklin was stuffed into an economy-sized pinstripe suit and wore a gold ring shaped like a horseshoe and glinting with diamonds. His smile was huge, like the rest of him, a ray of sunshine in a dark room. Behind him, wooden miniblinds were clamped tightly against the morning sun. Lena smelled the thick odor of cigars.

“Please.” Franklin fluttered chunky fingers toward a maroon leather chair. “Just a few points to cover, Ms. Padget.” He glanced at the teller. “While we talk, Mr. Breeding will be getting your withdrawal ready. Can we convince you to take a cashier's check?”

Lena shook her head.

Franklin nodded and Breeding closed the door softly.

“Let's see, now,” Franklin said. “You redeposited this money several days ago, and now you want to take it out again and close out all your accounts.”

“That's right.”

Franklin smiled again. His teeth had a yellowish cast. “Ms. Padget, it's not my job to pry into your personal business. But when one of our customers makes a substantial withdrawal—we just like to make sure you're not being coerced in any way. Or being victimized by some kind of scam, say someone who offers to—”

“Mr. Franklin, let's make this easy. I need the money to post a full-cash bond for my brother-in-law, Jeff Hayes. He's in the LaRue County jail, and I should have him out by this afternoon.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it. But give my regards to Enoch, Mr. Franklin.”

His smile never faltered. “I beg your pardon?”

“I doubt that too.”

Lena sat on a crumbling concrete retaining wall next to the LaRue County Courthouse, an old red brick building that also housed the ancient jail Jeff would soon be leaving. The American flag hung limp on its pole in the still, sun-bright afternoon. Lena checked her watch. Surely by now the circuit court clerk's office had let the jail know that bond had been posted. Jeff should be cut loose anytime.

Lena swallowed thickly, feeling lightheaded. She had been in the same spot over three hours. She had not taken the time to eat lunch, because she didn't want to risk missing Jeff on his way out of jail.

She wasn't hungry anyway.

The lightheadedness wasn't caused by too much sun or too little food, but by handing over one hundred thousand dollars to the LaRue County Circuit Court clerk. The money included every cent Lena had left from Whitney's insurance policy, minus a few hundred for future expenses. She'd had to put her house up as collateral for the other eleven thousand. Lena wished the judge had set bond lower, but she saw his point. A man who had killed his pregnant wife and child and was being held on a drug charge was not a very good risk.