Thirty-Six

– Eight months later –

“Remember what Ms. Morse is going to ask you about, Chase?” Mary smiled down at the little boy who sat fidgeting in a blue blazer and oversized tie in the Sligo County witness room. They’d moved Gudger’s trial to the neighboring county—he had too many connections in Campbell for his case to be fairly heard.

“About how Gudger threatened to sell me. And how that gorilla came and beat him up.” He looked up at Mary, pale brows drawn in a frown. “Sam told me that Volk killed her friend Ivan. And that gay guy, too.”

Mary marveled at how much the little boy had grown. He was inches taller, and his straw-colored hair had deepened into a light honey color. “Bryan Taylor was going to do a movie about those other girls in the motel with Sam. Boyko found out and sent Volk to kill him. His fingerprints matched the unidentified ones in Mrs. Taylor’s car.”

“Then Volk was the real bad guy,” Chase said softly, gazing at the old-school house clock that ticked away on the wall. “I mean, he did all the killing.”

“They were all bad guys, Chase,” said Mary. “Gudger, Crump, Boyko—they did terrible things to young girls and boys and they’re all going to be in prison for a very long time.”

“Everybody but Volk,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Volk will be dead even longer,” Mary said, wondering why the child was worrying about the giant Russian who’d died in the fiery car crash on Highway 74 that awful, long-ago night.

“I wish he were still alive,” Chase said. “If he were in jail, they might have found out a lot more bad stuff he’d done. You know, maybe found some of those girls who’ve been missing for so long.”

“That’s true,” said Mary. “But sometimes things just don’t work out the way we want.” She moved her chair closer. “So tell me about you, Chase. How’s life in the eighth grade?”

“It’s a lot better than the seventh,” he said. “I joined the band. I’m learning to play the drums.”

“That’s great,” said Mary.

“Yeah,” Chase continued, lowering his voice as if he were embarrassed. “And Vicky Brewer asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance.”

“Whoa, Chase!” Mary lifted her hand for a high-five. “You go, buddy!”

Chase giggled. Mary was glad to hear it—she didn’t want him obsessing over some dead Russian goon. She leaned closer and looked at the maroon-colored tie he was wearing. It was much too big and made his still-thin neck look even smaller. “That’s a classy tie,” she said.

“It was my dad’s,” he said proudly. “I’m wearing it for good luck. Dr. Knox helped me tie it.”

“You like Dr. Knox?” Mary knew that the older, soft-spoken doctor whose testimony nailed Crump had become a regular visitor at Chase’s house.

“Yeah, he’s great. He’s got all these cool books and he knows everything about the Civil War. He bought me a really neat bike, too.”

“Does Sam like him?”

He shrugged. “As much as Sam likes anybody these days.”

Mary had no answer for that. An ordeal like Sam’s marked most people for the rest of their lives. Even though she had crawled out from under that log unharmed, she would carry the memory of those two months at the Tocher Hunting Camp to her grave. “Is she still friends with Alice?”

“Yeah, they talk all the time. They’re both here today.”

Mary thought back over the last eight months. The SBI had pulled Alice Reynolds off a Greek freighter, about to leave the port of Wilmington. She and Sam had both testified against the men who’d held them captive. At first the three defendants had sat silent and sullen, refusing to talk to anyone. But then Smiley had gotten so spooked by the girls’ testimony that he’d ratted everybody out—happily naming names, giving dates, helping the FBI break up a trafficking operation that went the length of I-85—from Richmond to Montgomery. As a reward, Smiley had disappeared into the witness protection program. Boyko and Yusuf were both doing fifty years at the federal prison at Big Sandy, Kentucky. Crump had apparently sensed how his cards were going to fall and took a deal. He was now in for thirty-five of his own years at Central Prison, near Raleigh. Gudger was the last one left.

Chase fidgeted more, started flipping the end of his tie. “When do you think they’ll start?”

“Pretty soon. Sometimes it takes a while to get through all the witnesses.” Mary knew Penny Morse was hoping Gudger would take the modest deal she’d offered before Chase had to testify. But Gudger was apparently brassing it out. Perhaps he thought he could intimidate the boy with that hard glare of his. She had seen tougher witnesses than Chase come unglued on the stand.

“You know, Chase, Gudger’s going to be in there the whole time you’re testifying.”

“Will he question me, too?” asked the boy.

“No. He can’t say a word. He can’t touch you. But he’ll probably look really mean and try to scare you. His attorney might do that, too.”

“I don’t care,” Chase said. “I’m still going to tell the truth.”

She squeezed his shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Charles Oliver Buchanan. I know your father is, too.”

Just then the door opened. A fat, florid bailiff stepped inside the room. “You’re up next, young man.”

They stood up. “Okay,” said Mary. “Remember to speak clearly. And if you get scared, just look at me. I’ll be sitting at the prosecutor’s table, right beside Ms. Morse.”

“Okay,” said Chase, tightening his tie one last time. “I’m ready.”

The courtroom was packed. Not only with reporters from Charlotte and most of the Campbell County Police Department, but with a vast array of victims and their families. Of all sizes and races, the mothers held their newly found daughters’ hands while reunited siblings sat with their arms around each other. Most had testified against Gudger—he had stolen years of their young lives away from some; others had not survived at all. The lost ones were remembered by sad, single mothers who sat alone, holding pictures of their daughters in hopes that somebody in the courtroom might remember their faces, might tell them they were still alive.

Penny Morse called Chase as a witness. The little boy walked to the stand. He gave Gudger a single, cold stare, then he put his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth. Five minutes later, as he was recounting how Gudger poured hot sauce on his poison ivy blisters, the defense attorney asked for a recess to confer with his client. Fifteen minutes after that, the judge announced that the defendant had accepted the state’s offer, that Ralph Newly Gudger would spend the next fifty-five years in Central Prison. A woman in a black T-shirt with Dusty sequined across it stood up, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and gave a shrill whistle of approval. Everyone else stood and clapped as two deputies escorted Gudger, head bowed and limping, out of the courtroom.

After the judge left the bench, Mary turned to Penny, who was beaming. “Nice job, counselor,” Mary said, shaking her hand.

“If I had lost this case, I would have quit the law,” said Penny. “Particularly after that sweet little boy put his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth.”

“He did a good job,” said Mary. “You coached him well.”

“Was he nervous, back there with you?”

“I think Volk’s still in his head, but he’ll be okay.” Mary smiled at Chase, who was enjoying a boisterous group hug with Sam, his mother, Alice, and Dr. Knox. “Both those kids have a lot of grit.”

“Everybody in this courtroom had a lot of grit.” Penny clicked her briefcase shut. “I just hate it for the mothers of the ones who are still lost.”

“It breaks your heart, but like I told Chase, it’s seldom that everything works out exactly like you want.” Mary leaned over and gave the young woman a hug. “You’re a good lawyer, Penny. Count this one as a notch on your gun.”

“Thanks.”

As Penny turned to talk to a reporter, Mary turned to leave. Since Chase and Sam were still surrounded by triumphant well-wishers, she just gave Chase a thumbs-up as she headed for the door. She’d gotten halfway down the courthouse steps when Galloway came up, dressed in a brand-new suit. He looked cocky as ever—dimpled smile broad, blue eyes bright.

“Detective!” she said. “How nice to see you. I thought you were deep in the throes of an internal investigation.”

“Ended two days ago.”

“They didn’t mind that you shot two people dead? And threatened Gudger with a pulmonary embolism?”

“They were a little miffed about Gudger. But the dead guys were machine gunners who were trying to kill the governor’s special prosecutor. And I shot them in self-defense, anyway.”

“So one made up for the other?”

“I guess.” He looked at her and grinned. “Like my new threads?”

“I do,” said Mary. “Did they boot you upstairs? Are you now the police commissioner of Campbell County?”

“Actually, I’m not with Campbell County anymore.”

“You’re kidding. What are you doing now?”

Shyly, he pulled a new badge from his pocket. It had the seal of the state of North Carolina on it and read State Bureau of Investigation.

“You’re SBI now?” asked Mary.

He nodded. “I got a nice call from the Honorable Ann Chandler herself. She thanked me for my service and said that if I ever wanted to take my talents to the statewide level, a position was waiting.”

“Galloway, that’s wonderful.” Mary stretched to kiss his cheek. “Congratulations!’

“Thanks. I cleaned out my desk, and I’m heading east.”

“To Raleigh?”

He shook his head. “Actually, I’ll be in the Charlotte office.” They fell into step together. “So where are you going?”

“Back to Asheville.”

“The governor didn’t fire you?”

“No, she gave me a raise.”

“How come? Ecotron went to Virginia.”

“She still got a hell of a lot of political mileage out of closing down an international sex trafficking operation.”

“So North Carolina gay folks can now just twist in the wind?”

“No, she’s still committed to gay rights. But I think she finally realized that you have to get the statutes changed first. Raleigh leads, everybody else has to follow.”

“Campbell County won’t follow willingly,” said Galloway.

“Yeah, but that’s not my problem,” said Mary.

They walked on. Both had parked on the street, under a huge elm tree. Galloway’s green Mustang was nudged up behind Mary’s black Miata.

“Well,” she said as she threw her briefcase in the passenger seat of the car. “I guess this is it.”

“Only if you want it to be,” said Galloway.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Charlotte is one hundred and twenty-two miles from Asheville. Two hours travel time—unless you’re an SBI officer in that Mustang, in which case it’s about an hour and a half.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “So—you’re saying you’d like to see me again?”

He took her hand, in a courtly, old-fashioned way. “Yes, Mary Crow. I, Victor Alejandro Galloway, would very much like to see you again. As soon as possible, in fact.”

She looked at him. Though he was not the man she thought she’d wind up with, she couldn’t help but remember what she’d just told Penny Morse. It’s seldom things work out the way you want. Maybe in this case, things might work out for the better.

She smiled. “You doing anything this afternoon?”

He shook his head.

“Then follow me.”

“Are you going on 74?”

“I am.”

“I hear it has some nasty curves.”

“It sure does,” she replied looking at him over her shoulder. “But I bet you’re the kind of guy who can figure out exactly how to drive them.”