Thread of deceit, p.27
Thread of Deceit, page 27
“We don’t know where he is.” Ana had noted that Flora was watching as she told the story. Concerned about the fear on the child’s face, Ana paused to explain in Spanish. “We’re talking about Primero,” she said. “We don’t know where he is.”
“I know where he is,” Flora said in a soft voice. “He’s in his favorite place. That room in his house where he always goes. There’s a door. Inside is a special closet where he keeps the medicine. And the dolls.”
A chill washed down Ana’s spine. “The basement,” she told the men in English. “Flora says Slaughter is in his basement.”
“But the house burned down,” Terell said.
“Not the basement.” Sam reached out and touched Ana’s shoulder. “I was in the foyer when I gave the coroner the ID on Bering. Part of the first floor and most of the second were gone. But the basement is intact.”
“Surely he wouldn’t be there,” Terell spoke up. “By now the police have been through that place with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I agree.” Sam nodded at his friend. “Slaughter is too sophisticated to do something that stupid. Obviously he has a huge organization. He probably set up all kinds of safeguards and escape routes. I’ll bet he’s sitting on a beach in Costa Rica or Monte Carlo. The last thing he would do is go back to his house in Ladue.”
“But he would, Sam,” Ana insisted.
“Sí,” Flora joined in, as if she understood the importance of convincing the others.
“It’s what they do. Slaughter’s collections are in the basement. His dolls. His files. Pedophiles love their collections. They can’t give them up. They’ll risk anything to keep the images and pictures. They build up their files for years…computer files and photo albums….”
She paused, suddenly unable to speak. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as she thought of the secret she had kept so long. The deep, unmentionable, horrifying truth had eaten at her, trying to kill her, despite all the love with which God had enfolded her. She knew even now—even with the new understanding that her Lord was an invincible victor over sin—that the pain would always lurk. It would always live inside her, slowly drying her up, eventually killing her.
“Ana.” Sam brushed a finger across her cheek. “What is it? Talk to us.”
She shook her head, biting her lip and trying to stem the tears. Flora leaned against her, large brown eyes gazing up in compassion. And then Sam spoke.
“It happened to you, too, Ana,” he said in a low voice. “That’s how you know so much. That’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to save Flora.”
“Oh, sugar, this world is an evil place,” Glen murmured, patting Ana’s back. “You got to let it all out now, or it’ll eat you up like it done me. I told you what happened when I was a boy. It’s your turn now.”
Ana cradled her injured arm, the wounded hand. She tried to bring out the words, but they wouldn’t come. How could she express what had been done to her? Yet, here were people who cared. People who would believe her.
“He had them, too,” she managed. “The man who hurt me. He had magazine pictures, photographs, videotapes all filed in his own particular order. He made me look at them, and he…he…”
Flora’s thin arm slipped around Ana’s waist. On her other side, Sam’s large, well-muscled arm circled her shoulders. And all at once, she felt safe. Secure. Touched by compassion. Protected by love.
“I was a little girl like Flora,” Ana whispered, her focus on the table. “He was my father’s best friend. He and his wife took care of us when my parents were traveling for my father’s business. That’s when…that’s when it happened. The man’s wife would leave the house—shopping, visiting friends, checking on her mother—and he would take me into a room, a place he had added to their garage. He always locked the door.”
At that, Terell groaned in sympathy. “Mmm, if I could get my hands on that guy, he’d regret the day he was born.”
Ana sniffled and forced herself to continue. “Afterward, he told me that we had a special secret, just the two of us. He insisted that I had wanted the…the terrible thing…that I had asked for it. If I mentioned it to my parents or anyone else, he assured me, they wouldn’t believe it. But I wasn’t to say a word. If I did, he would kill my family. He showed me a gun. He had…he had bullets, and he would…he would hold the gun to my head.”
“Sugar, that man didn’t need no gun,” Glen said. “He was killin’ you anyhow.”
“What about your sister?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” she sobbed. “He hurt her, too. Just like Flora’s sister. We couldn’t help them. Couldn’t save them. And now they’re lost.”
She surrendered as Sam lifted her out of her chair and drew her into his arms. Holding her close, he spoke gently. “We’ll find Flora’s sister, Ana. I promise you that. Slaughter kept files and computer records. He has a place in Honduras. He has clients. The man is traceable. This is what I did in the military, Ana. I’ll find Flora’s sister, and we’ll bring her back. We’ll make sure they can live with their parents again—with money to support the family.”
“You don’t even have enough money to keep Haven open.” She wept. “It’s hopeless, Sam.”
“No, Ana.” He stroked his hand down her back, and she could feel Flora’s small fingers woven through hers. “With God all things are possible. We’ll find Flora’s sister, I promise you that.”
“But my sister,” she murmured. “My sister is gone. My beautiful Aurelia.”
Speaking the name loosed a flood inside Ana, and she wrapped her arms around Sam’s strong shoulders and sobbed into his neck.
The yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the evening breeze as Sam ducked under it. He and Terell had agreed to bring Ana and Flora to the burned mansion because the child claimed she could show them Primero’s special room. But Sam wasn’t about to go unprepared.
First they drove to the newspaper building and walked Ana to her desk. She scribbled a note to her editor and slipped her articles under his door. Then they found Raydell’s building. He insisted on coming, too. That meant there were six—too many for Sam’s liking.
Most of them were all but useless. Terell was strong, but the big doofus wouldn’t hurt a fly. Ana had finally expressed the pain in her past and now couldn’t seem to stop crying. Glen could barely walk upright, and Flora, of course, was a child.
Only Raydell seemed like an asset. Though the young man was too full of bluster and bravado, Sam couldn’t help but glow with pride at the progress Raydell had made since Haven became a part of his life. And so the six trudged across the lawn, skirting fallen concrete cherubs as they headed for the back door.
They found it open. Sam’s heart leaped with hope. No doubt the police would have secured the building. A thief would have broken a window. But the door stood ajar—as though the owner had unlocked it with a key and simply walked in.
“I think Flora may be right,” Sam whispered. “Slaughter could be here. Everyone stay quiet.”
He took the child’s hand. She pointed down the hall. They descended a flight of steps that led to the basement and stepped into a large entertainment room. The walls held countless shelves—each lined with a row of dolls. Sam ushered the others across the thickly padded carpet toward a light that shone from under a door in the distance.
He held a finger over his lips. Motioning Ana, Flora and Glen to one side, he beckoned the others. Then he kicked the door open.
“Give it up, Slaughter,” he shouted.
“Don’t shoot!” The man lifted his head from the pile of pillows and blankets where he had been sleeping. Blinking, he held up both hands. The room was lined with oak filing cabinets, above which rose shelves filled with toys.
“Sam?” He sounded baffled. “What are you—? And Terell?”
“Stand up, Slaughter.” Sam stepped into the room.
“Now seriously, Sam. This is ridiculous.” He got to his feet. Unsteady, he leaned a hand against one of the cabinets. Sam noted the bottles of vodka lining the wall.
“Turn around,” Sam said. “Put your hands behind your back.”
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, Sam.” He took a step forward. “You know who I am.”
“Jack Slaughter.”
He peeked around Sam. “Ana, is that you? What is going on? Why is everyone here?”
“We know all about you, Jack,” she spoke up. “You sell children to pedophiles. You run a sex tourism business. You trade in Internet pornography. We know who you are—and so do the police. We told them everything.”
“Police?” He looked at Sam with a confused expression. “Wait a minute. I’m here because my house burned. Somebody set my house on fire while I was out of the country. I’d gone down to Venezuela to see about some children. I have two families waiting anxiously for them. Then when I got back, I found that my house—”
“Stop it!” Ana screamed. “Stop lying!”
“Primero!” Flora cried out. Jerking her hand from Ana’s she hurtled at Slaughter, throwing herself into him, pummeling him with her fists. “Primero! Primero! Donde está Maria?”
“Where’s her sister?” Ana shouted, stepping up to the man and jabbing a finger into his chest. “Where is Maria? What have you done with her?”
Sam moved between the man and Ana as Terell swept Flora into his arms. Raydell grabbed Slaughter in a headlock.
With duct tape, Sam and Raydell bound their enemy’s hands behind his back. As they led him across the entertainment room and up the stairs, he continued to protest. “This is a misunderstanding. I’m telling you, Sam Hawke, you’re going to regret what you’ve done to me. I’ll shut down Haven so fast it’ll make your head spin. As for you, Ana Burns, you can forget your job. I’m a personal friend of your publisher.”
He was still insisting on his innocence, making threats, sticking to his alibi when Sam phoned the police. The Haven six could see his mouth moving, denying everything as the squad car drove him away.
Epilogue
Ana’s suitcases stood just inside the front door of her apartment. Though the landlady had apologized and offered two months’ free rent, Ana knew she couldn’t stay. She had phoned her parents and told them she was coming home.
She tugged an antibacterial cloth from the small pack she kept in the pocket of her jeans. In preparation for her departure, she wiped the countertop and range hood. Though she hadn’t heard from Carl Webster, Ana knew the job had ended. Since the night they had found Jack Slaughter in his basement, Ana had been unable to return to work. For an entire week, she had stayed in a hotel with Flora. Sam had visited. So had the police and various state and federal agents.
The following Friday, an FBI agent had arrived at the hotel room with Maria. The sisters silently touched hands and then, weeping, fell into each other’s arms. The U.S. Embassy in Honduras had located their parents and provided tickets for the sisters’ return to their homeland. And so they went away with nearly every cent from Ana’s bank account, promises to write and many, many tears.
As Sam had hoped, the authorities penetrated Jack Slaughter’s web, and unraveled his complex organization. They arrested men in nine states and raided the compound at La Ceiba.
Now Ana would go back to Brownsville. She shook powdered cleanser over her spotless stainless steel sink as she pondered the long drive. It wasn’t as bad as she had imagined, really. For one thing, she had told her story.
Telling was good.
Very good.
Always tell, she reminded herself. Her parents had refused to believe her on that day when she and Aurelia had confronted them about their friend. But Sam had believed her about Jack Slaughter. Even though he hadn’t wanted to accept that the man who could rescue Haven was a pedophile, he believed her. Terell had believed her, too. In fact, everyone believed her—Raydell, Glen, the landlady, the police, the FBI. Even she herself—who had listened to Jack Slaughter’s denials in the basement and wondered if she had made a mistake—Ana believed what she knew in her heart.
For the first time in years, she fully trusted what her mind told her was true. She trusted herself. She knew bad from good and darkness from light.
So this was a positive thing, she thought as she scrubbed her sink. Ana and Flora had told on the bad man, and now he was locked away. The two little girls from Honduras were in legitimate foster care as authorities worked on their case. Flora had found her sister, Maria. And something else good had happened, too.
Ana had discovered that what Sam told her about God was true. He was her shield and defender. No, she hadn’t been completely healed. She knew she never would be until heaven. But she was no longer a victim.
Ana was a survivor.
Turning on the hot water, she rinsed the cleanser residue down the drain. She would go back to Brownsville and get a job at the old newspaper and face her parents. They would listen to her tell the story of Aurelia. Even if they still refused to believe ill of their friend who had died years ago, they would hear why their younger daughter had hanged herself from the wooden beam in the guest cottage.
Ana would tell on him. Always tell.
She bent down and tied up her trash bag—the last thing to be done before her trip. All was well, she assured herself as she carried the sack to the door. Only one part of her heart would hold an emptiness. But then, she had never wanted a man’s love. The memory of Sam Hawke would fade.
As she turned to survey the empty apartment, the intercom buzzed, surprising her. “Yes?” she called down.
“It’s me.”
Sam’s voice filled Ana’s heart. She shook her head, willing away the pain.
“So what do you want? I’m busy up here.”
“Open the door, woman.”
Smiling, she pressed the button to let him in. He could help her carry down her luggage anyway. A man was good for that.
And then he was standing in her door, his broad grin with its deep parentheses reminding her that a man could be good for other things, as well. Without meaning to, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
“I’m going, Sam,” she whispered. “I was planning to call, but then…”
“Going where?”
“Brownsville. If I start this afternoon, I’ll get as far as—”
“Texas? No way. No possible way.” He tugged a newspaper from his hip pocket. “You’re leaving St. Louis when you’re on page one? I thought that was the big goal. I came over to congratulate you. Future Pulitzer winner and all that.”
“What are you talking about?” She took the paper in her good hand and unfolded it to find a photo of Raydell Watson standing outside the front door of Haven. She scanned the text. It was her story. The way she had written it. The information about lead paint had been woven seamlessly into the profile of a young man who had been brought up in an apartment filled with cockroaches—and whose future lay with the city of St. Louis police force.
“Part one of a four-part series,” Sam said, punching the paper with his forefinger. “Right there.”
“I don’t believe this. I thought I was fired.”
“You didn’t know?”
“I called in sick. My hand…and Flora and the other things. I haven’t talked to Carl.”
His eyes held flint as he studied her. “You got your dream. I guess, now you’re leaving for sure. Chasing that prize.”
She recalled what he had told her about his mother. Following her big dream. Abandoning her children.
“Me? Chase a prize?” she asked. “How shallow do you think I am, buster?”
His mouth tugged into a grin. “Maybe you’ve changed a little.”
“I’m not chasing awards, Sam,” she said, looking into his blue eyes. “I’m chasing peace.”
“I can give you that.”
“Really?”
“Peace. Safety.” He drew her into his arms. “Maybe even a future.”
That prospect had always frightened and distressed Ana. But as Sam spoke the word, she suddenly knew a glow of joy. It began in her chest and spread through her like the sunrise.
Sam bent and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Would that be so bad?”
Sinking into him, she stroked her fingers up his arm. “I need that. I need it with you.”
When his mouth covered hers a second time, she dropped the newspaper and threaded her fingers through his hair. He kicked the door shut with his heel and pressed her against the wall.
“Ana.” As he spoke her name, his lips caressed hers. “Anamaria. Anamaria, my lady, my love.”
“Oh, Sam.” She pressed her lips to his neck, drinking the scent of the man, knowing him as she had never allowed herself to dream. “Sam, I thought it was over. I knew I had to go. I’ve always run from this. From feelings. From hope. But you won’t let me go, will you? Promise you won’t?”
“Woman, I’ll hold on to you as long as you’ll let me.”
“Sam, why me? You know what happened. You heard everything—”
He silenced her with another kiss. “I love you, Ana Burns. I love you exactly the way you are. If you can stand a Marine who can’t get the Iraqi sand out of his head, I’ll take a woman who carries a packet of antibacterial wipes in her pocket.”
Pulling it from her jeans, he shook his head. “We’re both a little nuts, you know.”
“I think our God is big enough for that.”
“Yeah. Big enough for that—and more. We’ve got a lot to learn about Him, Ana. He put you on page one, and guess what He did for me.”
Her heart sped up. “Haven?”
“The hood put on a barbecue for us Sunday afternoon. Raydell’s idea. All the families joined in. Raised two thousand bucks. On Sunday afternoon, your church came up with another five grand. Your newspaper publisher kicked in three thousand on Monday. That put us more than halfway there. When the health department showed up, I told them what we had. They gave us another month.”
“Oh, Sam.” She drew him close and met his lips with hers. “A few minutes ago…did you mention something about a future?”
