''And they gave the baby to Verna Mae?'' she asked.
''I don't know.''
Kate said, ''Maybe Sara did fall. She could have been in a coma from a head injury. I've heard of comatose women being kept alive so they can deliver at term. What if her parents pulled the plug on life support after Will was born? Are they the type who would do that?''
''I can't answer that. I only know that something, maybe something more than grief, drove the pastor to the edge. Could his grief be mixed with guilt for pulling that plug?''
''Certainly. Especially if his religious teachings told him to keep her on a machine and he didn't,'' Kate said.
''Okay. That makes sense. Now, is there a connection between the Rankins and Verna Mae?''
''Maybe she attended their church,'' Kate said.
''I never explored that possibility,'' I said. ''It's on my to-do list now, though.''
Kate stared at me, her coffee cup held between her hands. ''I'm still confused. Why would the Rankins manufacture such an elaborate cover-up before Will was born?''
I explained my theory about their daughter being a sinner. ''I think they would have been humiliated and embarrassed by Sara's behavior, don't you?''
''From all you've told me about them, yes.''
''There's more, Kate. Verna Mae is dead because she knew something I don't. At least something I don't know yet.
''I'm worried, Abby. Please turn this over to Jeff? You got lucky tonight, but—''
''This is my life, now. This is what I do. A woman died an awful death. Lawrence Washington has been sitting in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Someone set him up, and that has to be made right. For Will, for Thaddeus and for Joelle Simpson.''
Kate leaned over and took my face in her warm hands. ''Okay. I understand. . . . But please be careful, Abby.''
The call from Jeff woke me at three a.m, so I knew he'd heard about the fire or he would have waited until morning.
''Still have your eyelashes?'' he asked. He was joking, but I could hear concern beneath the humor.
''I'm fine. Are you working twenty-four shifts now?''
''I crashed here at the precinct. Then I get a wakeup call from someone saying Burl Rollins wanted to talk to me. I think you know the rest.''
''Too well. More excitement than I planned on.''
''You get a read on the bad guy?''
''Not really. He was all in black and a man of few words.''
''Could he have been someone you've interviewed along the way?''
''The only thing I can say with certainty is that he was male. Probably the same person who's been following me like a coyote after a lost calf since day one.''
''I need to teach you a few things about busting a tail.''
''Not tonight, please. But if the offer is still good to get back into the prison, I want to talk to Lawrence Washington, find out why he kept quiet about Sara all these years, figure out why he won't help himself if he's innocent.''
''I'd like to hear those answers myself. We'll go tomorrow. Bring the father, if possible.''
''You want that leverage, huh?''
''Yup. We might even have Thaddeus's DNA results by the time we get to Huntsville,'' Jeff said.
''I know what the test will show, but if we can convince Lawrence he has a son—''
''He'll talk about his relationship with Sara,'' Jeff finished. ''Her story, what happened to her, is key.''
''Right. I'll arrange for the handicapped van. See you tomorrow, then?''
''Absolutely. I'm very glad I will be seeing you tomorrow,'' he said quietly.
''Are you upset with me for going into that storage unit without Burl?''
''Not as much as when I first heard what you did. I should have known you'd keep a set of those keys, and don't repeat this to anyone with a badge, but I admire you for working this case every which way you could, even if you've made a few dumb moves.''
''Dumb moves? I'm allowed to label them dumb, not you,'' I said with mock anger.
''Remember that the next time I do something stupid,'' he said. ''I love you, Abby. See you tomorrow.''
The arrangements for the van and Jeff's need for a few hours of sleep came in quite handy. I also had a chance to retrieve my car from the storage facility. We didn't pick up Thaddeus until around three p.m. Monday. The driver took care of getting Thaddeus and his chair into the back passenger area, then designated me to carry the insulated medical bag containing Thaddeus's glucose monitor, snacks and insulin.
The call from the lab came right after we merged onto the freeway heading toward Huntsville. Jeff put the call on speakerphone so Thaddeus could hear.
''Paternal grandparent isn't always the best—we like maternal connections when you skip generations,'' said the woman on the phone.
''Bottom line?'' Jeff asked.
''Seventy percent probability older donor is closely related to young male donor.''
''Yes!'' I did a Tiger Woods fist pump.
''Thanks, Bev. I owe you,'' Jeff said.
''You never owe me,'' she answered, before disconnecting.
My excitement at having this confirmation was overshadowed by a tinge of jealousy. But I kept my lip zipped about it and said, ''I knew it, Thaddeus. You have a grandson.''
I was sitting next to him, and he reached over and took my hand. His was cold when he squeezed mine. ''Something good for once. Praise God, something good.''
''Maybe this will help us convince Lawrence to tell us what he knows,'' I said. ''The bullet found inside Verna Mae came from the same gun that put a round in your wall, Thaddeus.''
''How's that help my son?''
''That same gun killed Amanda Mason,'' I said.
Thaddeus took this in, not speaking for several seconds. ''That's hard evidence,'' he finally said. ''Think he could get a new trial out of this?''
''I don't know,'' Jeff said quickly. ''But if you can convince him to talk, tell us if he knew who owned that gun, it would sure help.''
''That's why we're a traveling road show today, right?'' said Thaddeus. He looked at me. ''Tell me again, how old is Lawrence's boy?''
''Nineteen.''
''I've missed nineteen years. Got plenty to make up for.''
''You ever watch college basketball?'' I asked.
''Nope. After Lawrence was taken from us, it hurt to watch kids doing what he should have been doing— using his talent. We'd gone to every one of his high school baseball games, stood behind him when he signed his letter of intent. Nope. I got to hate sports, all of them.''
''You'll have to learn to at least like basketball again. Your grandson is a star athlete,'' I said.
Thaddeus smiled. ''Won't be hard to like it. Won't be hard at all.''
We talked about Will all the way to Huntsville, and I told him all I knew about his newfound grandson. When we arrived at the prison barricade, however, Thaddeus's good spirits faded quickly.
''He'll be upset at me coming,'' he said as the driver lowered the automatic ramp and then maneuvered Thaddeus and his chair onto the parking lot asphalt.
''He loves you. He'll get over it,'' I answered.
Jeff said, ''We'll take it from here'' to the driver.
After we went through the security checks, Jeff arranged for us to meet with Lawrence in an interview room rather than the visitors' area. Guess he has more pull than DeShay.
''I get a bad feeling every time I come here,'' Thaddeus said as Jeff wheeled him down a corridor, one of Goree's gray shadow guards leading the way. ''But it's worse today. They say hell is hot, but I think it's as cold as this place.''
''You need my jacket?'' Jeff asked.
''Nah. This kind of cold comes from inside. No jacket gonna help that.''
We were taken to a small room, bigger than the chaplain's closet, but still a tight squeeze for a wheelchair. This place had been built long before wheelchairs were common.
We waited in tense silence as the guard left to get Lawrence. When they finally brought him i
n, the tension grew a thousandfold.
Lawrence looked at his father for a brief second then turned angry eyes on me. ''What the hell do you think you're doing?''
''Sit,'' Jeff said, his voice hard as granite.
''I wanted to come,'' said Thaddeus. ''I got something big to tell you, son.''
Lawrence looked down, rubbing his white-clad thighs up and down. ''You don't need to see me like this. It's not good for you, Pops.''
''Don't you want to know why they brought me?'' Thaddeus's voice was soft, and when I looked his way, I saw his eyes were brimming with tears.
Lawrence had noticed this, too. ''See what you all have done? He doesn't need this kind of stress.''
''He needs his family,'' I said. ''And that's you.''
''What do you know about it?'' Lawrence raised his chin defiantly.
''She knows more than I did a few hours ago,'' Thaddeus said. ''You have a son, Lawrence. I have a grandson.''
''What the hell are you talking about?'' Even though his father had spoken, Lawrence directed the question at me.
''Time to tell us about Sara Rankin,'' I said.
Lawrence shook his head, looked down again. ''I don't know what you're talking about. You've been filling my father's head.'' He glared at me. ''What are you, some kind of sadist?''
Jeff said, ''We have DNA proving that your father and Will Knight are related. If we could get your DNA, the picture would be complete.''
Lawrence suddenly rose, still shaking his head. ''You're lying. All of you. Why, Pops? Why do this to me?''
''Son, have I ever lied to you?''
Lawrence had gone white around the lips, and I could see he was trembling. He turned to the guard. ''I want to go back to the cellblock. I'm done here.''
He looked confused and lost, and at that moment I was certain Lawrence did not know or yet believe his baby, the child he conceived with Sara Rankin, was alive.
Suddenly, Lawrence bolted, the guard hot on his tail.
Jeff was already on his feet, headed for the door. ''I want him back here.''
''Maybe we should leave him be?'' Thaddeus said. ''It hasn't sunk in.''
''Wait, Jeff,'' I said. ''I've got an idea. Before we drag him back unwillingly, I know someone who might make this easier.''
Ten minutes later, after Chaplain Jim Kelly had arrived and we filled him in, he said, ''Do you think that what you're on to will free Lawrence?''
''I can't promise anything,'' Jeff said.
Thaddeus's shoulders slumped, and I rested a hand over his. ''But if you can help get Lawrence to tell us about his relationship with Sara Rankin, we'd be a lot closer to the truth about Verna Mae Olsen's murder.''
''In good conscience, I must have Lawrence's permission to speak about what I know,'' Kelly said quietly.
''Will he come back here with you?'' I asked.
''He might. I'll try,'' the chaplain said.
Once Kelly was gone, I noticed dabs of sweat bordered Thaddeus's hairline, and he, too, looked pale around the mouth.
''Could you get me my bag, Abby?'' he asked.
I handed it to him, but he was shaking too badly to unzip it. He asked for the glucose monitor, and Jeff was the one who ended up pricking Thaddeus's finger. After the blood was applied to the little strip, the number that appeared seconds later was 530.
''That's bad, right?'' I said.
''I've seen better,'' Thaddeus replied, his voice weak.
''I'm taking him to the clinic,'' Jeff said. ''You handle this, Abby. You've talked to Lawrence before and the less people staring at him, demanding answers, the better. Learn what you can.''
As Jeff wheeled him out, Thaddeus raised a hand and brushed my arm. ''Make my boy help himself. Please.''
I was concerned about Thaddeus, and when Kelly arrived with a now handcuffed prisoner, Lawrence must have read my anxiety.
''Where's Pops? Is something wrong with him?'' he asked.
''He wasn't feeling well. Sergeant Kline took him out for some air,'' I answered. Sometimes the whole truth is not beneficial.
''You made an old man sicker than he already was. You happy now?'' Lawrence said.
Kelly put a hand on Lawrence's shoulder. ''I believe this woman wants to help you and your father. You need to tell her the truth. Tell her what you told me.''
Lawrence looked sideways at Kelly. ''I don't know. She comes here with her stories, brings my father out of a sickbed and—''
''Sit down and start talking,'' Kelly said. ''That's what you do with me.''
Lawrence closed his eyes, let out a heavy sigh. And then he sat.
Kelly took Jeff's abandoned chair.
''You haven't tricked my father into thinking I have a son, right?'' asked Lawrence.
''No, I haven't. You do have a son, and though I've known it since I first saw Will Knight's resemblance to you, we now have scientific proof.''
''I don't get it,'' Lawrence said, shaking his head. ''How could this be true? And how did you find out about Sara?''
''That's a very long story. Jessica Roman convinced me that that you and Sara were lovers. You conceived a child.''
''Yes,'' Lawrence said, his gaze beyond my shoulder, as if he were looking back in time. ''God, we were happy.''
''I'm here to help you.'' I leaned forward, hands between my knees.
''But Sara fell. She died. I thought our baby died with her. Died because of me.'' Lawrence's voice was strained, his expression again confused.
Kelly said, ''We've worked on this, Lawrence. It wasn't your fault. You were in the Harris County jail when the accident happened.''
''But she ran away because she was pregnant,'' Lawrence said. ''Ran from her parents. If she hadn't, then she'd be alive.''
''There was no mission trip?'' I asked.
''That's what the pastor and his wife told everyone when she disappeared. She'd left them a note—we wrote it together—saying she had to leave home to take care of someone in need. It was the truth, in a way.''
''That's how it became a mission trip to them, I guess. Did she even plan on telling them about the baby?'' My guess was no.
''We talked about what to do, who to tell. Sara was underage and we were sure her parents would make us give the baby away, so we couldn't go to them. And if you knew Sara—'' He stopped, closed his eyes.
''Sara knew what she wanted, right? She wanted you and the baby?''
''Yes. And I wanted what she did.''
''You did some shopping before she left town, though. Bought some baby things?'' I asked.
Lawrence looked at me. ''How did you find out about the blanket?''
''Not important. She ordered it, you picked it up, right?''
He nodded. ''She'd seen that blanket when she was shopping with her mother in this British store. She said she had to have one nice thing for our kid.''
''She was already gone on the so-called mission trip by the time you picked up the blanket, though. You two must have been in touch, right?'' I asked.
''We were afraid to. Thought someone might find
out, give us up to her parents. We'd planned ahead for Sara to sneak back to Houston after I'd had time to pull together some money.''
''She left town, then came back?''
He nodded. ''She'd taken a bus to Dallas, stayed in some shelter. It seemed like a good thing—they don't tell the cops anything about runaways—so she stayed in one when she came back to Houston, too. I'd asked a few uncles for some cash, worked extra shifts sacking groceries. I had a couple hundred bucks to give her.''
''Plus, you needed to see each other, right?'' I said, thinking how even two days away from Jeff made me crazy.
He sighed. ''It was hard being apart. Keeping secrets from everyone.''
''These people you asked for money assumed you needed it for your family's medical expenses? Your mother's cancer treatment?''
Lawrence cocked his head. ''You've been doing a lot of reading about me.''
''You better believe it. Go on an
d answer the question,'' I said.
''The cop who arrested me? Dugan? That was his theory—that I was trying to get money for Mom. I never said that. Anyway, the night they arrested me was the night Sara and I met.'' He paused, took a deep breath. ''I gave her the money and the keys to my car. I kissed her good-bye and never saw her again.''
Dead Giveaway Page 22
