Sara stared at me. Her slack jaw and weakened facial muscles couldn't hide the perceptiveness I saw in those eyes.
''Oh,'' the doctor said. ''You're the detective. A police sergeant called and told me you'd be coming. She may not be able to communicate well, but she understands everything you say. Talk to her. She could use some friends.''
The woman then hustled after her pack of interns.
Kate was already at the bedside. She picked up one of Sara's hands and said, ''I'm Dr. Rose, a clinical psychologist. Can my sister and I talk to you, tell you why you've been brought here?''
Sara looked at Kate with questioning eyes, then at me.
''Remember me? You saw me through the window last night. I'm Abby.''
Sara nodded slowly. A yes.
Kate, still holding onto Sara's hand, dragged over a nearby chair using her foot. She sat down. ''Things have happened over the years, Sara. Things you probably know nothing about. My sister knows all of it, though, and we want to tell you what she's learned. Some of what you hear may be very difficult. I'm here to support you through that. If you're not ready, let us know somehow.''
She made a sound then, a combination groan-grunt, almost like she was in pain. She lifted her free hand with effort. Though her hand was limp, I knew she was pointing at me. And then came her first words, slurred but understandable. ''You. Tell.''
''That's why I came,'' I said with a smile, pulling over a plastic chair to sit next to Kate. ''Do you remember Lawrence?''
Sara rolled her head left away from us, squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Then she used her hand to make an L and rested the fingers against her heart.
Unexpected tears sprung to my eyes. Kate's tears were already slipping down her cheeks.
''You know he's in prison?'' I said.
She nodded.
''And that he's innocent?''
Another nod, stronger this time.
''We'll get him out. We have proof now, but it may take time,'' I said.
She closed her eyes, hit her finger-made L against her chest several times.
''There's more,'' I said. ''Do you remember your baby?''
She looked at me again. It was Sara's turn for tears now. As they ran down her thin, tired face, she worked hard to speak and finally said, ''Dead.''
''No,'' I replied, way too loud for hospital pros to like. ''He's not dead.''
She stared at me, eyes wide, while Kate grabbed a tissue and wiped Sara's cheeks.
''He's not. He wants to meet you,'' I said.
Sara began to shake her head, and Kate clutched her hand tighter, saying, ''It's true. It's real.''
Sara struggled again to speak, each word, it seemed, like climbing a mountain. ''Look . . . at . . . me.''
Kate said, ''Are you saying you don't want him to see you like this?''
Sara nodded.
''He's a special young man,'' I said. ''And he's the reason we found you. I promise, he wouldn't care if your head was screwed on backwards.''
One side of Sara's mouth turned up in a smile. This time she answered by making a fist, and with effort turned her thumb to the ceiling.
Kate had already advised me not to mention Noreen's death or Pastor Rankin's arrest, so we were grateful when an aide interrupted us to take Sara for a CAT scan. We told her we would be back and left.
Next stop was Thaddeus, and I was relieved to find him in far better shape than when I'd last seen him.
He was sitting in his wheelchair by the window, the roses I'd sent on the bedside stand. ''Going home soon, Abby,'' he said. ''Few more stable days is all I need. But you got my heart racing bringing in a woman as good-looking as your friend here.''
''Thaddeus Washington, my sister, Kate Rose,'' I said.
''Figures you two would be related,'' he said with a smile.
Kate went over and shook his hand. ''I've heard wonderful things about you, Mr. Washington.''
''Everybody calls me Thaddeus.'' He looked at me, his expression now serious. ''Lawrence ever gonna speak to me again, Abby?''
''How about on the outside? I'm hoping we have what we need to set him free,'' I said with a grin.
''Did I hear right?'' came a voice from the door. It was Joelle, carrying a big bottle of Evian and a box of sugar-free chocolate-chip cookies.
''You heard right,'' I answered. ''I'm meeting with a defense lawyer when I leave here. He'll get things rolling. The sooner we're on this, the sooner he'll be out.''
After I introduced Kate and Joelle, Thaddeus said, ''Was it something Lawrence told you that helped him?''
''He told me about Will's mother and headed me in the right direction.'' I didn't want to be too specific. Thaddeus may act strong, but I'd learned my lesson about stress and his blood sugar fluctuations.
''About time that son of mine came to his senses,'' Thaddeus said.
''Joelle helped, too,'' I said, looking at her. ''One of those wrongs Frank worried so much about will soon be righted.''
She placed the cookies and water on Thaddeus's bed, walked over and wrapped her arms around me. ''Thank you, Abby. Thank you so much.''
We visited a little longer, and after we left the hospital, Kate drove me to police impound to pick up my car. She had afternoon patients to see, so we said good-bye and I headed for Mark Whitley's law office on Houston's southwest side. Mark had helped me on another case a few months ago, but this was far more complicated.
Defense attorneys as successful as Mark make big bucks, and he'd poured plenty of that money into his office, a stand-alone redbrick building off the Southwest Freeway. I noticed his Porsche parked in his marked spot, and when he came out to greet me, he could have been walking on some fashion runway in Paris.
''Nice,'' I said, nodding appreciatively at his navy suit with wide lapels and pinstripes.
He smiled. ''Like it? Neil Barrett.''
''I should have known,'' I said, pretending I knew who Neil Barrett was. Dark-haired, young and very good-looking, Mark seemed to have it all, including brains.
Once we were settled in his office, me with my Diet Coke and Mark with his Perrier, I spent the next half hour explaining the case and how I needed his help getting Lawrence Washington out of jail ASAP.
Mark leaned back in his black leather chair. ''Last time all I had to do was intimidate a small-town police force for you, but this, Abby? Texans take their guilty convictions very seriously.''
''But he's innocent,'' I said.
''You think that matters?'' he said, eyebrows raised.
''Wait a minute. We have evidence and—''
''I'm not saying I can't get him out. I will. But we're talking three months at the least. More likely a year.''
''He has to stay there a year? I don't get it. Can we try for a pardon from the governor or—''
''Innocence pardons are considered only on unanimous recommendation of an applicant's three trial officials—the sentencing judge, the district attorney and the police involved in the arrest. Then we'll need unanimous agreement from the Board of Pardon and Paroles. Can you see there might be a lengthy delay?''
I sighed and leaned back against the cushioned client chair. Damn. After my last meeting with Lawrence, I was pretty sure he'd be thrilled to know Sara was alive, happy to know I'd told the truth about his son. But he'd never let them inside that prison to visit. He wouldn't want them to see him in that place.
I looked at Mark. ''Is there anything you can do to
speed this up? Because the one surviving arresting officer, Randall Dugan, will never cooperate. You'll have a major barrier right off the bat.''
''I don't know, Abby. This will require some intense effort starting the minute you walk out the door. I got some favors out there, a couple D.A.'s who might listen. Maybe I can work a miracle, get him out in less than three months.''
''Do whatever you have to. Spare no expense. This is on my personal tab, not my client's,'' I said.
''We'll talk money another day,'' he said.
A fe
w minutes later, I was back in the Camry. Funny how I'd never paid much attention to how long it had taken innocent men to get out of Huntsville after the Houston crime lab debacle in 2004. But it was all very real now. On my way home, I was feeling down and trying to hide it when I called Will's house and his mother answered.
''This is Abby,'' I said.
''Abby. How are you?''
''Pretty good,'' I said.
''Any news?''
''Big news. I've found Will's mother and his father. I don't know how to get in touch with Will, though.''
''He'll be home the day after tomorrow—but this is wonderful. You found them in less than two weeks. What about the poor lady who died? Was her murder connected to your search for Will's birth parents?''
''I'm afraid so.''
''Is that why you don't sound very happy?'' she asked.
''Things are just . . . complicated. Let me begin at the beginning.''
Again I had to tell a long story, which only reinforced what Mark had made clear. The happy ending might not be so happy after all. A year or more could pass before Lawrence walked out of Huntsville Prison to see his son, his father and the woman who, even though he thought she was dead, he had protected for nineteen years.
27
Jeff came home close to eight that evening, tired but in a great mood. Wish mine could have matched. He'd brought French dip sandwiches and herb pasta salad from La Madeleine, and we ate at the counter. Despite the great food, I was still glum when I told him about my visit with Mark.
''I needed Mark's reality check about as much as Aunt Caroline needs a face-lift,'' I said.
''Yeah, I've talked to Mark today,'' Jeff said. ''He wanted to know exactly how much evidence HPD has to exonerate Lawrence. He's on this. He'll get it done.''
''In about a year. But no use whining,'' I said. ''Guess we both did our jobs. I only wish they'd hand me a key to his cell and I could let him out myself.''
''You should be proud. I know I'm proud of you,'' Jeff said.
''I couldn't have done it without your help. Daddy always said success is the result of backbone, not wishbone, and you're the one with the backbone.''
''You're the strongest woman I've ever met, Abby. Now put away the wishbone for Lawrence. You've done all you can.'' He took out a fresh pack of Big Red and stared at it for a second. ''We got any beer? I could use one while I tell you what Olive had to say.''
''Sure. I'm well stocked with staples. Beer, wine, Diet Coke and frozen pizza.''
He smiled and returned the gum to his pocket.
I grabbed a couple Shiner Bocks from the fridge, saying, ''I nearly forgot about Olive. I'm anxious to hear that lady's excuse for keeping Sara a virtual prisoner.''
We went to the living room—or as I like to call it, the loving room—and sat on either end of the couch. Jeff took off his shoes and we faced each other, assuming our favorite position, legs outstretched and intertwined.
''Olive is actually a nice lady,'' he said. ''Clueless, but nice. I'm guessing her IQ hovers around 80 to 85. She and Verna Mae went back a long time, and she knew her friend wanted a baby.''
''I figured that's how Will ended up where he did.''
''What you don't know is that Verna Mae visited Sara Rankin every week. Those scrapbooks, pictures and news stories about his athletic accomplishments? She took them with her, told Sara that Will was her own child.'' Jeff took a pull on his longneck.
''You're kidding me. Sara was told stories about her own baby thinking he belonged to Verna Mae? That's crazy, Jeff.''
''Are you really surprised?''
''I guess not. But it seems so cruel.''
''It might explain why, after meeting Will in the flesh and knowing Sara as well as she did, she decided to set things straight. She had no idea those wonderful people who had been filling her bank account for years would turn on her after she told them she'd been collecting information about Will and sharing it with their invalid daughter.''
''No wonder B.J. was on a search-and-destroy mission when Verna Mae wouldn't tell him where she'd saved all the Will mementos,'' I said.
''He tried to beat information out of her. Guess she was just as tough as she was crazy. Too bad.''
''Has Olive cared for Sara all these years?'' I asked.
''Yes. She told us the Rankins had her take some
quickie nurse's aide course after they brought a very sick, very pregnant Sara home from the wilderness camp. Olive took care of her, even delivered Will.''
''No way,'' I said. ''Guess the Rankins thought everything would be okay, that Sara would return from her fake mission trip after she'd recovered from delivery and they could brainwash her into thinking Lawrence was a killer. Everything would be back to normal. She must not have told her parents she was Lawrence's alibi.''
''Probably not. According to Olive, Sara had the stroke right after delivery, went into a coma and couldn't even speak when she finally woke up—all this without a doctor ever setting foot in that cabin.''
''She knows Lawrence is in prison, though. How'd she find out?'' I asked.
''She can talk?''
''A little. She's not brain-dead, Jeff.''
He nodded and drank more beer. ''Olive told us that Verna Mae told Sara about Lawrence's arrest and conviction. It wasn't like Sara could run to a judge and offer the alibi Lawrence needed—not in her condition.''
''Rankin and B.J. better get everything they deserve and more,'' I said, anger firing my face. ''B.J. will live to meet a tough judge, right?''
''Oh, yeah. He lost a lot of blood, but he's fine. I expect he'll join your ex on death row within the year. Maybe Rankin will, too, though his attorney will probably claim he was protecting you when he shot his wife. I think they'll leave out the 'ridding the earth of Satan' defense. No insanity option there, thank you. He knew right from wrong.''
I finished my beer, thinking about the reunion I was planning, probably in Sara's room at the hospital. Will wanted to meet the woman who'd given him life, meet Thaddeus, but it would be a little hollow without Lawrence there.
Jeff set his empty bottle on the floor and took off his already loosened tie. ''You ready to call it a night?''
I checked my watch. ''It's early.'' ''Yeah. I know.'' He grinned.
Two days later, I picked up Will so we could head to the hospital for the much-anticipated reunion with the family he'd hired me to find. He wore a T-shirt imprinted with the words UT BASKETBALL and had on a pair of pressed jeans. I swear he'd grown another inch since the last time I saw him. He and I had talked yesterday, but his mother had pretty much filled him in on all that had happened.
When he ducked into the passenger seat, he immediately moved the seat back all the way to fit his legs under the dash. It was still a tight squeeze.
''Where are your parents?'' I asked. ''I thought they were coming, too.''
''Mom and Dad want to wait. They say I need to meet Sara and Mr. Washington by myself first. They do want to have them over to the house, if Sara—is 'Sara' what I should call her?''
''I think Sara is perfect.''
''Anyway, when Sara and Mr. Washington are both well enough, Mom wants to have a party.''
I smiled. ''You have great parents, Will, but having known you even for such a short time, I wouldn't expect anything less.''
''I don't know what will go down today, Abby. I just know I'm lucky. One day, I'll have enough money to make sure Sara gets all the help she needs. My grandfather, too.''
''You already have money, remember?'' I said, turning the key in the ignition.
''I don't know. That money Mrs. Olsen left me in her will creeps me out. It came from . . . I don't know. What's a good word?''
''Evil?''
''Yeah. That's it.''
I pulled out of the Knight driveway. ''The Rankins seemed to have turned good into evil, so the reverse should work, right?''
''Okay. You got any ideas?''
''Indeed I do,'' I replied with a smile as we pul
led away. ''I know some folks who could sure use handicapped-equipped transportation.''
Kate had spent several hours with Sara yesterday, preparing her for this reunion. When Will and I walked into Thaddeus's room, she was there with both him and Sara, who were side-by-side in wheelchairs. I had no idea psychotherapy extended to makeup and clothes, but Sara looked even more like the picture from so long ago. Her hair was curled and hung softly to her shoulders and she wore a peach cotton sweater, tank and pants. Even her athletic shoes were new.
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