Illuminating a world that was, for better or worse, now a safer place.
"You think they're asleep?" Amanda asked.
"No way. At that age I fought tooth and nail for every extra minute. I'd sneak an AM/FM radio into bed so I could listen to ball games, maybe a book and a flashlight.
I hope kids haven't outgrown that."
"Not outgrown it," she said. "They just have more options now. Portable video games, iPods, televisions the size of a quarter. It's a miracle they don't spend half their time choosing which one to watch."
We stepped up to the porch. I saw the wind chimes again. In a moment they'd be ringing their tune.
I pressed the doorbell, heard a chime go off inside the house. There were footsteps, a woman's voice shouting something. Then the screen door opened, and Shelly
Linwood was standing right in front of us.
She was wearing a terry-cloth bathrobe, her hair done up in rollers. I saw a child run past behind her. Tasha, if I remembered correctly.
"Henry? Henry Parker?" she said, unsure of what to make of this late-night visit.
"Mrs. Linwood," I said. "I need a minute of your time."
"I was just doing my hair," she said. She looked eager to get back to that, but the look on my face told her we weren't leaving anytime soon. Resignedly, she said, "Come on in."
She held the door open for us, and we walked inside.
"Mrs. Linwood, this is Amanda Davies. She works for the New York Legal Aid Society. She's a good friend of mine, and I just thought it would be good for her to meet
Danny. Danny might have some questions she can answer.
And if not, he'll make a new friend."
I saw a mop of hair peek from behind a doorway.
Shelley turned around, said, "Danny, come in here. You remember Henry, right?"
Daniel Linwood tentatively stepped into the room. He'd gained a few pounds since I last saw him, his hair a little longer. His eyes seemed more frightened, his gait more awkward.
"Danny," I said. "This is Amanda."
She stepped forward, knelt down slightly so she was at his level.
"Hey there," she said. "I'm Amanda. Mind if we chat for a bit? I'd love to see your room."
"Show her your Xbox," Shelly said. Danny nodded reluctantly, led Amanda past us and up the stairs.
"Can we sit?" I said. Shelly nodded.
We went into the living room, sat on the same couch where I'd interviewed Danny not too long ago.
"How is he?" I asked.
Shelly sighed, scratched her neck.
"I get a call from his school almost every day. Kids picking on him. Giving him wedgies. Stealing his lunch money. It wasn't like this before."
"He's a different person now," I said. "It's going to take a long time for him to find himself."
"I know," she said. "God, I know."
"Mrs. Linwood," I said. "I want you to hear this from me. And only from me. I want you to know what I know."
She looked up, her eyes big and brown and watery. "Yes?"
"You knew about Daniel's kidnapping. You knew it was going to happen. You knew he would be taken. And you probably told them when they could do it. Know that
I know. Because you'll have to live with that. Live with everyone knowing what you did."
Her mouth fell open. She stared at me, shaking her head, openmouthed.
"No," she said. "My Danny, I didn't-"
"Shelly," I said. "You've been lying too long. I know why you did it. I know you met Raymond Benjamin."
Shelly just sat there, her lower lip trembling.
"When I spoke to Danny, you even brought him a tray of food. Vegetables that would help replenish the thiamine levels that were so low in his brain. Food high in vitamin
B1. Did Petrovsky tell you to do that?"
Shelly sat there, stone silent.
"Did he come to your house? Raymond Benjamin."
She continued to stare, then a tear streaked down her cheek as she nodded.
"Yes," she said.
"What did he say?"
"He told me," Shelly said, sucking in air and wiping her face, "that this town was tearing itself apart. That he'd grown up here, and there were only two options for boys
Danny and James's age. Prison or the grave. Raymond said he'd been to prison, but that's only because he got caught."
"And he offered you a deal," I said. "Right? He would take Danny away for a few years. He would be gone, but he would be safe. And by doing that you would give your children a chance to grow up in a neighborhood where they'd be safe. Where they could make something of themselves."
Shelly nodded. Then she stood up. Went over to the mantel, and took down a framed photograph. She handed it to me.
It was an odd picture. I'd noticed it during my interview with Daniel. And now I thought about the photo I found in Robert Reed's wallet and it all made sense.
The photo was of Shelly's younger son, James. The shot had been taken from about five feet behind him. He was wearing a knapsack, baggy jeans. He was unaware of the photographer.
I turned the frame over and removed the knobs that held it in place. When the backing came off, the back of the photo was visible. One word was printed on it.
Remember.
"Raymond Benjamin gave that photo to me," she said.
"He told me he'd taken it himself. He said if he could get that close to James, others could, too. People who meant him more harm than he did. He said it was a fair trade. A few years of Daniel's life would guarantee the safety of my whole family forever. Daniel would, in a way, be a hero. I never understood how my son could be a hero giving his life for a cause he didn't understand or even know about. I just wanted to believe in some way he was doing it for the future of James and Tasha. And he said that anytime I began to doubt myself or what I'd done, to look at that photo and remember what could happen to the rest of my family."
"What did you do, Shelly?" I asked.
Shelly began to weep. She held her head in her hands.
I felt a modicum of remorse for this woman, but it soon went away.
"I told Benjamin the route Danny took to get home from practice," she said. "Six-thirty every night. I made him promise not to hurt my baby. He told me he wouldn't."
"What else did Benjamin say?"
"He promised me a family would take care of him.
They knew about his diabetes and they would care for him," Shelly said through bloodshot eyes. "And I believed him. At least I wanted to. I needed to know my babies could grow up and lead full lives. I've seen what this town can do to people. I wanted my sons to have something better."
"Is that what Danny has now?" I asked. "Something better?"
"I don't know," she said. "But if he can get out of here and ends up in a safe office, making money, starting a family instead of rotting behind bars or in the dirt, then yes.
He has something better. I know you can't possibly understand that, Henry. Wanting your child to not just survive but live a life. Maybe one day you will. But you can't right now."
"No," I said. "I can't."
45
I woke up the next morning, pleasantly surprised that sleep had come so easily. I think it was more due to the complete lack of energy in every one of my muscles, the utter exhaustion I felt, than any sort of blissful conscience.
As soon as we returned from the Linwood residence,
I'd gone straight to the Gazette to write up my story.
Amanda had given me a long, deep hug, and for the first time since we'd started speaking again, a hug was all I wanted.
The story was difficult to write. That so many people had been so deceitful, purposefully putting so many lives at risk, it was hard to fathom how any of them could have felt they were doing the right thing. I heard over the wire that the police had apprehended Robert and Elaine Reed in a suburb just outside Chicago. Caroline Twomey was in the process of being returned to her family. The police had reopened the kidnappings of both Danny Linwood and