Just as Paul drove his pickup out of the driveway onto the road, an aging green pickup came charging toward them, going far faster than the speed limit. The vehicle swerved around them, and the driver nearly lost control as he careened onto the wrong side of the road and back again, tires squealing and kicking up dust from the shoulder.
“Good grief!” Shaken, Paul slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. “That guy must be crazy or drunk, driving like that.”
“Thank the Lord he didn’t—” Kate halted midthought. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“The children told me their father had killed someone. But the woman who called today said he’d been driving drunk. He didn’t murder his victim, not like shooting or stabbing him. He must have been charged with felony vehicular manslaughter. Not homicide.”
“Neither choice is a particularly good one.”
She turned to face her husband. “But don’t you see? I asked Livvy to check for homicide cases around the time the father was arrested. There were no records of any murders committed by a Wyn by any last name. But there was a drunk-driving fatality. We didn’t research that because I had the crime all wrong.” And the name too.
His brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure of anything. But it makes so much sense, I have to be on the right track.” She dug her cell phone out of her handbag. “I’m going to call Livvy.”
She punched in the number and listened to the phone ring. After the fifth ring, the call went to Livvy’s answering machine, which meant she’d probably gone home for the day.
Kate groaned, then left a message asking Livvy to call as soon as possible. She snapped her phone closed.
Even if she found the children’s father, Kate warned herself, there was no guarantee he would be able or willing to help them. He hadn’t had any contact with his children in years.
Chapter Nineteen
The Hanlons’ phone rang early the next morning while Kate and Paul were washing up their breakfast dishes. Kate dried her hands and answered the phone.
Livvy greeted her. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you last night, Kate. We went to James’ baseball game in Pine Ridge. It went into extra innings, so we got home late.”
“No problem. Are you at the library now?” Kate slid a pad of paper toward her on the counter and found a pencil.
“Yes. I had some paperwork to finish this morning, so I came in early. What can I do for you?”
“Do you have time to check something for me?”
“Sure. Let me open the search program.” In the background, computer keys clicked as Livvy worked. “All right, what do you need?”
“Last Monday when you were looking up homicide reports in Knoxville nine years ago, you came across a drunk-driving incident that caused a fatality. Can you find that report again?”
“No problem.”
Kate glanced at Paul, who had finished putting the dishes away and was listening to her conversation. He gave her an encouraging nod.
“I think I’ve got the one,” Livvy said, relaying the date of the incident. “Driver charged with DUI and vehicular manslaughter.”
“What’s the driver’s name?” Kate held her breath.
“Arthur W. Carew Jr., age thirty-nine.”
Kate frowned as she wrote the name on the notepad. “Do you suppose the W could stand for Wyn?” She knew that people who were named after their parents often used a middle name to avoid confusion.
“I suppose it could,” Livvy replied.
“The problem is that Glynis Maddock changed back to her maiden name after she divorced her husband.” Making it doubly difficult for Kate to track him down.
“You think that this Carew fellow could be the father of those three Maddock children?”
“Yes, I do. Can I ask another favor of you, Liv?”
“Of course.”
“The Tennessee prison system has a prisoner-locating service on their Web site. Your Internet service is way faster than my dial-up. Can you go to that Web site and type in his name? Let’s see if he’s still a guest of the state.”
“Hang on a minute.”
Crossing her fingers and holding her breath, Kate waited again.
“Got him! He’s an inmate at Turney Center Industrial Prison.”
Kate asked Livvy the location of the Turney Center Industrial Prison and wrote down all the information.
“Thank you so much, Liv.”
“I just hope this is the man you’re looking for.”
“So do I.”
WITHIN MINUTES, Kate was dressed in a business suit and on the road to the Turney Center Industrial Prison, which was west of Nashville. She hoped to get there before noon, visit Wyn, and be back home by late afternoon with good news—oh, please!—for the children.
The interstate took her toward Nashville, around the center of the city, and then west into a more rural area of gently rolling countryside. Few houses were visible from the road, and there was little traffic when she turned off at the exit for the prison. A mile later, she drove up to a huge sprawling facility surrounded by high walls with razor wire and guard towers. The mere thought of being confined inside such a bleak place for even one day made Kate’s palms sweat and gave her a bad case of claustrophobia.
She parked and approached the main entrance, which appeared to be a tunnel. A uniformed guard with hard eyes and a square jaw stood behind the wire gate.
“I’d like to see one of your inmates,” Kate said.
“Visiting days are Saturday, Sunday, and Monday evenings.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Kate chided herself for not checking for the prison’s rules on visitors. She glanced around, hoping to find someone to appeal to besides the stoic guard at the gate. “I’ve come all the way from Copper Mill to see Arthur W. Carew Jr. I believe his ex-wife died recently, and his children—”
“You’ll have to come back tomorrow during visiting hours, eight to three fifteen.”
She dreaded the thought of driving all the way back home only to return again in the morning. “Surely there’s a way I could see Mr. Carew, just for a few moments. It is important. I didn’t know there were specific hours.”
The guard, his cap squarely on his head, scowled at her. “Look, lady, we got more than twelve hundred prisoners here, and we got rules. You gotta be on the inmate’s approved-visitor list and show up during visiting hours.”
“Approved list?”
He shoved a form at her through a slot in the fence. “Fill that out. The warden will run a background check and approve you within thirty days.”
Thirty days! Good grief! “This really can’t wait that long.”
“Unless you’re a minister or an attorney, those are the rules. You gotta be on the approved-visitor list.”
Kate didn’t suppose this bored, by-the-book guard would think being a minister’s wife qualified her for the exception. But it gave her an idea for a different approach.
She took the form from him. “Thank you. I appreciate that you have a difficult job, and you’re only doing what you’ve been told to do.”
His expression softened ever so slightly.
She returned to her car and used her cell phone to place a call to the prison switchboard, asking for a chaplain.
Deacon Moore had a big booming voice capable of reaching the far corners of the biggest church in Nashville without the aid of a microphone.
As succinctly as possible, Kate introduced herself, explained her mission, and why it was urgent she see Wyn Carew.
“That’s Wyn Carew, all right. He’s one of my boys.”
“Thank goodness!” Kate breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
“He’s come a long way since he’s been locked up.” Deacon Moore’s voice held a note of pride. “He doesn’t talk about his family much. A lot of the men don’t, especially if they don’t have contact with them. It’s too painful a subject.”
“I think his ex-wife cut
off all contact between him and the children after the divorce,” Kate said.
“I’d say that’d be cruel and unusual punishment for a man like Wyn.”
The chaplain grew quiet for a moment. Kate sensed he was thinking how best to approach the situation.
“Tell you what, Mrs. Hanlon. You walk on back to the guard gate. Tell ’em you’re here to see me. I’ll be there soon as I can locate Wyn and get him on his way to my office. You can meet with him here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Moore. I really appreciate your help, and so will the children.”
“Call me Deacon, Mrs. Hanlon,” he boomed through the phone. “That’s what all my flock call me.”
Smiling, Kate closed her phone and returned to the guard gate. The guard was none too happy that she’d circumvented the system.
WELL OVER SIX FEET TALL and close to three hundred pounds, Deacon Moore was as big as his voice had implied. He wore his hair cut short, making it look like a fuzzy gray skullcap against his ebony skin. His broad smile revealed one gold tooth, and his dark eyes shone with an inner peace that had to come from deep within his gentle spirit.
He escorted Kate inside the labyrinth of corridors to his office.
“The guard’s bringing Wyn in from the fields. He’s on the landscaping crew, so it may take him a few minutes to clean up and get here.”
“That’s fine. I’m just glad that I finally located him.” She took a seat at a small conference table at one end of Deacon’s office. Except for a wooden cross on one wall, the office was devoid of any decoration.
“Tell me about Wyn,” she said.
Deacon sat down at the table opposite her. He didn’t appear particularly ministerial in a long-sleeved, maroon turtleneck shirt and dark slacks, but he did have a certain aura of strength that had nothing to do with his muscular physique.
“I’d say he’s a model prisoner. Works hard, keeps out of trouble. Attends church services every week. Even got his GED since he’s been inside. Lately he’s been studying botany and plant propagation.”
That sounded ambitious for a man in prison. “What about his drinking? From his conviction, I gather that alcohol was a problem.”
“As far as I can tell, he’s been clean and sober since he was arrested, and there’s more ways to get drugs and alcohol inside a place like this than you’d think. Attends regular AA meetings too. He feels a lot of guilt for what happened.”
“Do you think he’d want to have a relationship with his children?”
At the sound of heavy footsteps, Deacon looked past her to the open doorway and stood. “I’ll let you ask him yourself.”
Kate turned in her chair.
Clean shaven and close to six feet tall, Wyn Carew looked leaner and more fit than he had in the photo Kate had seen. Older too. His tobacco-brown hair had traces of gray, and his face had been etched by the sun and the passage of time.
Dressed in prison stripes, he paused at the doorway, glanced at her, then directed his attention to the chaplain. “You wanted to see me, Deacon?” He spoke in a calm, soft voice that held the same hint of Appalachian roots as Megan’s did.
“This is Kate Hanlon from Copper Mill,” Deacon explained. “She asked to see you.”
He shifted his gaze back to Kate, and his brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “Am I supposed to know you?”
“Not at all. I know your children, though.”
Interest sparked in his clear blue eyes, but he seemed to keep his curiosity in check.
“Your children are all fine,” she hastened to reassure him. “Until recently, they’ve been staying with me and my husband. He’s the pastor of Faith Briar Church in Copper Mill.”
Deacon gestured to the chair at the end of the table. “Have a seat, Wyn.”
He eased himself onto the chair. “Where’s Glynis? Isn’t she with them?”
“She was until a couple months ago. There was an accident, Mr. Carew. I’m sorry to tell you, Glynis Maddock was killed in a car accident.” Kate avoided mentioning that the crash was the result of a high-speed police chase. That information could wait.
He stared at her a moment, shock registering in his eyes and an almost imperceptible wince of pain before he scrubbed his hands over his face.
“I haven’t talked to Glynis or had any contact since I got the divorce papers from her. I tried writing to her, but after a while, my letters came back as undeliverable.” He rested his large hands on the table, studying his short nails and callused palms. “I figured maybe it was better that way. Glynis and the kids could start a new life, find somebody who could do better for them than I could locked up in here.”
“I brought a snapshot of the children. I thought you’d like to see how much they’ve grown.” She took the photo from her suit pocket and slid it across the table. “It’s not a recent photo. Megan looks more grown up now than in the picture.”
With trembling fingers, he pulled the snapshot closer. As though he were afraid to actually touch them, he drew a fingertip across their faces without making contact with the picture. “Becker kind of looks like me, don’t you think? Except his hair is a lot lighter than mine ever was. Gwen and Megan both look like their ma.”
He looked up at Kate again, tears glistening in his eyes. “What’s going to happen to them now?”
“I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with that. Megan didn’t know of any relatives who might take them in. I thought perhaps you’d have family who could help out.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I had an aunt and uncle in Kentucky, but they’ve passed. My folks are long gone too.”
Disappointment sucked away Kate’s natural optimism.
“It’s possible someone in our church might take them in.” Offhand, she couldn’t think of a family who’d have room for three more youngsters on a permanent basis. The arrangement with Renee certainly wasn’t permanent. But somewhere in Copper Mill—
“You’ve got your first parole hearing next week on Thursday,” Deacon said to Wyn.
Wyn glanced toward his pastor, then back to Kate. “Guys don’t usually get out on the first try, but Deacon says I might have a shot. Good behavior and all.”
“Really? Do you think it’s possible?” she asked both men.
Since Wyn was locked in prison, she hadn’t really considered that he’d be able to care for his own children. Deacon, as Wyn’s pastor, certainly spoke highly of the man. Perhaps...
Wyn shrugged, a gesture that mirrored Beck’s feigned disinterest when he didn’t want to answer a question.
“Parole isn’t unheard of under these circumstances,” Deacon said. “But in order for the parole board to agree to his release, Wyn would need a sponsor on the outside, a place to live, and a job. I’ve been working on that, but I admit I haven’t made much progress. Even if everything fell into place, it would still take the parole board a month to make a decision after the hearing officer makes his recommendation.”
Kate wondered if she and Renee could hold off the social worker from children’s services that long.
“I’ve been trying not to hope too much,” Wyn said. “The letdown can get to a man, make him do dumb things that put off his parole that much longer. I don’t want to do that. Particularly now when the kids...” He looked down at the photo again.
A plan was beginning to take shape in Kate’s mind and brought with it a glimmer of hope. “Would you be willing to take care of the children if you were released?”
“Absolutely! They’re my kids.”
He spoke with such conviction, Kate didn’t doubt that he meant what he said. But could Kate trust a man fresh out of prison to be a good parent to three children who didn’t even know him?
She decided to let that thought simmer. There were other matters to consider. The diamond thieves were still at large. She didn’t want to put the children at greater risk if their father had somehow been involved with the three robbers. “Do you know a Hank Weller?”
He thought for a moment.
“Can’t say that I do, ma’am.”
“What about Perry Weller or Curt Smedley?”
He shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
“Hank Weller was driving the car when your ex-wife died. Turns out he was wanted for armed robbery along with his brother and a third man.”
Wyn’s hands flexed into fists. “How’d Glynis get messed up with guys like that?”
“That I don’t know.” She looked to the chaplain. “If I was able to arrange a job for Wyn, a place he could live with the children, and a sponsor, what would the parole board need as proof?”
“Some affidavits signed by a notary public, your sworn testimony, and details of the arrangement. Plus my word that Wyn would do well on the outside, which I’ll freely give.”
Nodding thoughtfully, she said, “I can’t make any promises, but I will do what I can to help you get paroled. But you have to promise me, if I get you out of here, you’ll stay sober and take good care of the children.”
Wyn sketched an X over his heart. “I swear, ma’am. I’ve missed my kids so much, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I wouldn’t risk losing them again for anything in the world if I somehow get a second chance.”
Kate hoped she was being a good judge of his character. The chaplain had given Wyn a good recommendation. She felt she could trust that Deacon had been honest with her.
“Guess you can go on back to work, Wyn,” Deacon said. “I’ll keep in touch with Mrs. Hanlon.”
He stood and looked down at the photo still on the table. “Ma’am, would it be all right if I keep this picture? All these years, I’ve thought about my kids...” His gaze slid away from the snapshot to Kate.
“Of course.” Kate quickly pulled one of Paul’s business cards from her pocket. “If you’d like to write to the children, you can send it in care of Faith Briar Church. I’ll see they get your letter.”
The guard who had delivered Wyn to the chaplain’s office was waiting for him outside the door.
Kate watched him walk away down the bleak corridor, then turned to thank Deacon for his help. As she left, she knew that if she was going to succeed in getting Wyn released from prison, she had a lot of arrangements to make.
For the Least of These Page 15
