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Once Dulong was escorted to a cell, Barrett returned to the room where Officer Brennan had left him.
Time ticked by. The officer finally reappeared, carrying the board and the sheet of paper Barrett had borrowed from Timmy. “We found nothing to match the thumb print you gave us. You realize, of course, we can’t take your word for it that this print belongs to Andrew Westin. We’ll need to get our own sample.”
“I’m hoping you won’t need it. Will you go with me to the Larson house?”
“Now?”
“Now.”
The officer released a heavy breath. “I suppose it won’t hurt to ask the boys a few more questions.”
Minutes later, Barrett stopped the carriage in front of a place as daunting as the older boy’s glower. “What are the parents like?”
“Can’t say.”
He eyed Brennan. “You didn’t meet them when you questioned the boys?”
“The children were home alone at the time.”
Children had few enough rights in society. They should at least enjoy the right to have their parents present when speaking with the police.
Noticing a faint light in the broken-down house, the two men approached the door and Barrett knocked. On the other side of the wood, the hiss of an argument ensued. Though he couldn’t understand all that was said, he recognized the voices as belonging to two young males.
Brennan called out, “Open up to the police.”
One of the voices, perhaps the younger boy, squealed and the pitch grew higher. A few seconds later, everything quieted and the door opened, revealing a portion of the oldest Larson boy’s scowling face. “They ain’t here.”
Barrett cocked his head at the statement. “Who isn’t here?”
He glanced behind him. “Uh...our folks. Yeah. They ain’t here.”
“When will they return?”
“Don’t know.”
The answer left Barrett with a dilemma. Time dwindled for Andy. Did they question the boys as planned or wait until the parents returned?
Brennan showed no such quandary and pushed the door open, shoving Tad a few steps back. “We want some answers, boys. Why did you assault Mr. Stark and burn his shed?”
Barrett walked into the two-room house after the officer. Although he wasn’t above using a little intimidation when warranted, he hadn’t intended to browbeat the children. He’d hoped to present them with the facts in a more subtle manner and see where it led. At least, at first.
The smell of burned beans—the most pleasant of the odors hanging about the house—reminded Barrett he hadn’t had his supper. Not that the boys’ meal tempted him.
A few faded clothes were strewn over worn furniture that hadn’t seen a dusting in ages. Trash littered the floors, and a draft from a broken window chilled the room. In a far corner, a half-drawn curtain hid a portion of an unmade bed, and a half-filled burlap sack lay on the floor beside it.
The younger boy’s quick breaths and contorted face continued to reflect his fear. He—Hollis was it?—ducked behind his brother. “You ain’t gonna hit us, are you?”
“No, boy, I won’t hit you.” The officer’s tone softened—some. “But I want the truth.”
Barrett peered closer at the mark on Tad’s cheek. “Looks as though someone’s already hit you. Who?”
The boy’s hand sprang to cover the reddish mark. “Nobody. I tripped.”
In the past, Barrett had seen the faces of women who had “tripped” and come away with skin that turned black and blue.
His gaze drifted to the clothes. Something about them, other than their shabby condition, intrigued him. “Where are your parents?”
Hollis gulped, and Tad said, “I told you. They ain’t here.”
“They ‘ain’t here’ now or not at all?”
The policeman studied the room, his frown revealing he’d come to the same conclusion as Barrett. These children lived alone. “Sit down boys.”
“You can’t—”
“I said sit down.”
Hollis obeyed immediately, Tad with reluctance. Both sat on the edge of the tattered old davenport planted in front of a wall covered in yellowed newspaper.
“Now answer Mr. Seaton’s question. Where are your parents?”
“Ma’s dead.”
Tad glared at his brother. “I told you to keep your mouth shut.”
Barrett knelt in front of Hollis. If either of them told the truth, it would come from the youngest and most frightened. Time to divide and conquer. “And your father?”
The boy glanced at his brother, then his gaze stuck to the badge on Officer Brennan’s uniform coat. “He left a month ago and ain’t come back.”
Tad snorted. “No loss for us.”
What had these boys suffered in their young lives?
Barrett arrived at the house wanting nothing more than to see them punished for their lies and violent deeds...for justice to prevail and Andy freed from blame. At the same time, he wished to find the man who’d ducked out on his responsibility to care for his children, to raise them to become moral, decent human beings.
Brennan whipped out a notebook and ink pad from a pocket of his uniform. “You boys place your fingers on this pad one at a time, ink them up, and then press them to the paper.”
Hollis began to shake. “W-why?”
“We already know the fingerprints we found on the board don’t belong to Andrew Westin, so that leads me to conclude one of you struck Mr. Stark.” The officer provided the explanation with the ease of ordering a sandwich for his lunch. He held out the ink pad, but the boys merely stared at it. “Come on, now.”
Tad sat back and crossed his arms. “We don’t have to do that.”
Barrett laid his hand on Hollis’ arm. “When a man does something wrong, he needs to take responsibility. He doesn’t compound it by blaming someone else. This is your opportunity to be a man and tell the truth of what happened that night.”
Tad grabbed his brother’s other arm. “Don’t do it, Hollis. They’re trying to trick you.”
Tears filled Hollis’ eyes. “B-but, Tad, they’ll see. They’ll know.”
“I said shut up.” Tad’s command lacked harshness, and Barrett waited for the facts he’d come to hear.
***
EDYTHE’S EYES STRAINED to adjust to the darkness inside the windowless building, just as her nerves strained against the temptation to panic.
Her breathing quickened and her head grew light. She fought the memories the entrapment raised, the bone-shaking terror over the possibility of never being found. In the quiet, she heard the cackle of her grandfather and his taunts about graves. He’d claimed to be teasing her, but as far as Edythe was concerned, the man had been insane.
Beating back the impulse to slide into a state of hysteria, she employed her role as a mother—the protector of her son—and dwelled on the fury she felt toward the Larson boys and herself. How reckless of her to turn her back on them as she had done with her grandfather. She supposed she should consider herself fortunate they hadn’t knocked her or Andy unconscious as they’d done to poor Mr. Stark.
She swallowed. What if they set the shed on fire?
The darkness closed in again and the air became damp and musty. Stop it, Edythe.
Rather than focusing on the fear from having once been buried in a cellar, Edythe focused on the moment her father found her—his gentle hold, the reassuring murmurings in her ear, the outrage over the situation.
For too many years, she had assigned her father’s harsh character to God. Until recently, she hadn’t recognized that her heavenly Father waited for her to turn to Him, to trust Him, to realize He couldn’t abide the wickedness of sinful people. And it was the sins of people that made life difficult.
As she’d recently chosen to trust that God loved her, she also accepted that the judge did, too, even during times when his actions contradicted that love.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Her son’s soft voice suited the quiet inside the shed. “I tried to get them to admit they lied.”
How he thought to accomplish something like that, she couldn’t... Her eyes widened. “Did you hit Tad?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I told him I’d give him another punch and another until he told the truth.” Rather than shame, his voice projected pride. “That’s when they dragged me in here and locked the door.”
While disapproving of Andy’s method, Edythe marveled at her son’s courage in taking on a bigger boy. It encouraged her to fight harder against her fear.
After closing her eyes to pray, she suppressed a desire to laugh. What difference was there in whether her eyes were opened or closed when she couldn’t see much anyway? But it was the stance one took when praying, wasn’t it?
Lord, in these past weeks I’ve accepted that You are more than a disciplinarian, more than a puppet master seeking to control every aspect of Your children’s lives, and that You love me because I am Your child. God, You know where we are and our circumstances. Grant us both calm and a way to freedom.
A peace she’d rarely known overcame her, and she knew the truth. In her ignorance, she had placed the control of her life in the wrong hands.
“What if they never admit to what they did, Mama? I don’t want to go away to that place.”
Edythe pulled him closer, both of them needing each other’s warmth to combat the growing chill of the night. Besides, unable to see more than a dark outline of his frame, she hadn’t let go of her son since finding him in the shed.
The two of them stood by the door, ready to escape whenever the boys returned. Surely, they planned to return.
“There’s nothing to fear, because I love you, Andy, and God loves you. As long as we believe that, we’re as free as if we could walk right out that door, because it’s fear that holds us captive.”
Her son drew in a breath and grew taller in her hold. “Don’t worry, we’ll get out of here.”
“Yes, we will.”
The spacing of the homes along the road meant that the neighbors likely hadn’t heard her previous cries for help. Certainly no one had come to rescue them. But one more attempt wouldn’t hurt.
Edythe beat on the door again and called out. She pressed her ear to the wood but heard nothing except the eerie hoot of an owl somewhere in the woods.
This building was solid compared to the ramshackle condition of the house. “Did you notice anything that might help us get out of here, Andy?”
“I didn’t see much before they shut the door, but I found this pail.” He slapped the metal and the tinny sound rang out. “I figured I’d hit them with it.”
She winced. “Let’s try not to strike anyone again if we can help it.”
Edythe reached out and felt around the area near the door, searching for anything to help her break through to the outside. Perhaps something to loosen the hinges? Her fingers touched the silky threads of a spider’s web along the frame. She yanked her hand away and shivered as she dusted off the sticky strands.
No fear, remember?
She extended her arm. Ordering Andy to stay with her, she used her hands to walk around the walls of the shed. She shuffled her feet, careful not to trip over something unseen on the floor. Her hands explored shelves holding cans, some empty, some containing a liquid she couldn’t identify in the dark. She grabbed the heaviest one and pushed it at her son. “Hold this.”
Edythe investigated the rest of the shelves and walls until her hand landed on something metal—a pipe, maybe. She raised the item, slid her hand from one end to the other, and laughed. “Now this I know how to use.” She gripped the body of the crowbar and held it against her.
A rustling under the shed caught her attention. She halted and cocked her head to listen.
Andy whispered, “What’s that?”
“I don’t know. A raccoon?” Oh, please, not a skunk.
The rustling stopped under their feet and a whine took its place, followed by sniffing evident through the spacing of the shed’s floorboards.
Edythe laughed with relief. “I think it’s Mr. Peters.”
“You brought him?”
“He invited himself, but without him I wouldn’t have found you.” She crouched and placed her palm over a slight gap between two boards. Another whine rolled from the dog’s throat. “I wonder how he fit under the shed. I doubt there’s much room between the floor and the ground.”
“But he did it.”
“Yes, and if that colossal dog could do it, you can too.”
Edythe inserted the claw of the crowbar into the gap.