IN THE END, they double-teamed it.
Marie called 911 and asked for an ambulance for Angie, and for good measure called Cheryl Hayes, while Julia dialed the Highway Patrol, whose officers functioned as state police in their state, stressing her position as a state-employed public defender and using her most authoritative voice in an explanation she hoped didn’t make her sound like a crazy person. Then, for good measure, she called Claudette.
They all arrived at once, and the house, which had seemed so spacious when she moved in, suddenly felt too small.
Beverly, as usual, took charge, brewing coffee, prying Calvin from Julia’s arms, and calling the dog, who’d plastered himself to Julia’s legs.
“The police will need to talk with you,” she reminded Julia, who started to follow her from the room, her hand wrapped around Calvin’s wrist. “And they’ll need to talk with him, too, but not tonight.” She stared down an officer who’d approached them. “I’m going to draw Calvin a hot bath and then read him as many stories as he wants before bedtime. And don’t worry. Even after he falls asleep, I won’t leave him.”
Their eyes met, each of them reading the same thought. Calvin likely would have nightmares, maybe not immediately, but soon and for a long time. Or maybe not.
“Children are resilient,” Beverly said, repeating the prayerful mantra of every parent dealing with a child’s trauma.
Julia forced herself to release her son.
“Gregory,” Beverly called. “See that everyone has coffee. Come on, Calvin. Let’s get your bath started. If you squirt me in the eye with that tugboat, you’re going to be in big trouble.”
Calvin responded with a wan smile, far removed from his usual exuberant burst of laughter. But it was a start.
Julia turned to find the highway patrolman at her side.
“We called the sheriff’s department,” he said.
“But they’re all involved in this!” Julia gasped. “They’ll let him go!”
“No. They won’t. I’ve listened to part of your friend’s recording. Besides, I called the police department too. They’ll handle the initial procedure, due to the conflict of interest with the sheriff’s department. Oh, and given that the sheriff’s department runs the jail, I’ve notified the jail in the next county and arranged transport. He’ll be held there.”
He’d done the right thing. Still, Julia had to tamp down a bit of disappointment that Wayne wouldn’t be jailed with the inmates he’d tormented and used for his own purposes for so long.
Claudette joined them. “May I speak to you outside for a moment?”
The farther Julia got from the bedlam in her kitchen, the better. “Of course.”
Once outside, Claudette eyeballed the security cameras. “Come on.” She took Julia’s arm, then dragged her down the walk to the sidewalk and a few steps farther, until she was sure they were out of range.
She pulled a flask from her pocket and handed it to Julia. “Figured you could use this.”
The shakes ran from Julia’s head all the way down to her feet, arms and legs jerking so violently that Claudette reached out a hand to steady her.
“Booze was going to be what killed me,” she managed. “It’s how he did it. He injected people with alcohol. Billy. Craig. Mae. Ray, but I guess it didn’t take. And maybe—probably—even Leslie Harper.”
Claudette drew a sharp breath. “Oh, I’m going to love prosecuting this sonofabitch.”
She tilted the flask to her own lips and handed it to Julia. “Here. You’re in shock. Get hold of yourself. The next few hours are going to be rough. Thank God Marie recorded everything. She’s a sharp one.”
The streetlight illuminated a gleam in her eye. Julia knew that look.
She took the flask, gulped, and handed it back to Claudette. “No,” she said, after she caught her breath. “You can’t have her. At least, not until she’s done her internship with me. But after that … all yours. You’ll be lucky to get her. She’s got prosecutor written all over her. Or at least, that’s what I thought when she started.”
“Fair enough. I’m going to head on out of here and let the police do their work. Maybe get a little sleep so I’m fresh when this lands on my desk in the morning. I’ll write up a statement for the press. Might be a good idea for you to do that too. I’ve learned that if you throw them a bone, they generally back off.”
Julia thought of Chance Larsen, and of her husband, of his years at the Bulletin before he’d joined the military. Pit bulls, both of them, when it came to a story, “backing off” a wholly foreign concept.
“Not all of them. But it’s a good idea. Claudette, wait. There’s something else.”
Claudette turned. “You don’t even need to say it. I’m starting the process first thing. By the time you drag your ass in, Ray Belmar should be a free man.”