Presumption of Guilt (19 page)

She heard the officer close her car door and come toward her. “You can stay, ma'am, but please stay back. Danks and Millsaps will be here soon.”

She nodded her head. Leaning against her car, she watched the smoke softly swirling above the rubble, like prayers that would never find their way to heaven.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

T
he television news woke Jimmy. He sat up in bed and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. Oh, yeah. Lynda Barrett's house. Today was the day that Beth's article would come out, and Bill would be arrested, and he'd see Lisa again.

He quickly got dressed, then walked barefoot into the den. Lynda and Jake were glued to the television, and neither of them saw him.

“. . . suspected arson. The building went up in flames at approximately one A.M. Fire crews were on the scene within five minutes of the alarm going off, but it was too late to save the millions of dollars worth of equipment . . . or the lives of the two men who were trapped in the flames . . .”

“What building is that?” Jimmy asked, startling them. They both turned around.

“Good morning, Jimmy,” Lynda said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sure, but what building is that?”

“It's the building for the
St. Clair News.”

“The newspaper building,” Jimmy said, staring at the footage of the building engulfed in flames. He felt as if a fist had just whopped him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Bill's fist. His face reddened, and he tightened his lips to keep them from trembling with the emotion gripping him. “So he did it.”

“Who?” Lynda asked.

“Bill. I told you he'd never let it come out.” He knew his expression belied his matter-of-fact tone, but he couldn't seem to control it.

Lynda stepped toward him, but he backed away.

“I told you he'd never let Lisa out, either. They're never gonna hang anything on him. He's just gonna keep doing what he does, and now I've blown it and I can't go back, and Lisa's trapped there—”

“Jimmy, we don't know for sure that he was behind this. Even if he was—”

“
I
know for sure,” he cut in. “
I
know!”

He ran out of the room, back to the bedroom where he had slept last night, and slammed the door. He sat down on the bed, trying to think. Somehow, he had to reach Lisa.

He went to the phone extension that sat on his bed table and put his trembling hand on it, wondering if he should risk calling her again. Then he wondered if he could risk
not
calling her.

Lisa wasn't safe.

He picked up the phone, punched in the number of Cottage B at the St. Clair Children's Home, and waited, holding his breath.

I
n Cottage B, Stella stood like a sentry over the children, making sure they all finished every last bite of their cereal. Some of the children woke up more easily than others, but all were awakened at the same time. Those who'd gone out with Bill last night, and had come in smelling of gasoline fumes, could barely hold their heads up, but they could have no one sleeping because that Nick fellow might pop in for an inspection again, and it wouldn't do to have children sleeping in the daylight. To keep up appearances, everyone had to be out of bed at the same time. It was good for them. It would make them tough.

The telephone rang, and Stella picked it up. “Hello?”

Click.

Annoyed, she hung it back up just in time to see Lisa's little head bobbing toward her cereal bowl, as though she might fall asleep right in the milk. “Lisa!” she shouted, startling the child.

“Get a grip, would ya?”

The child propped her chin and tried to make her eyes stay open.

F
rustrated, Jimmy admitted to himself that he'd never get to talk to Lisa—at least, not by phone. He closed his eyes and tried to think of a way to communicate with her. He wished she had a computer, that he could e-mail her as easily as he did the friends he corresponded with across the country on one of the computers that had been donated to the children's home. Bill had always encouraged Jimmy's interest in computers—after all, he'd been able to use the boy's knowledge on a number of occasions. That was why Jimmy'd been chosen to break into Beth's house; Bill had needed someone who could find Beth's files on SCCH.

No, Lisa didn't have access to the home's computers—but others did. Was there someone he could trust?

Brad. He was Jimmy's best friend, and there was nothing Brad liked more than keeping a secret. It made him feel important. That was why he seemed to thrive on the jobs Bill sent him to do. They were all secrets, and Brad went on all his missions like a miniature spy sent out into the night to risk his life to save his country.

Yes, Brad would keep Jimmy's secret. As loyal as Brad was to Bill, he'd been beaten enough to harbor the same smoldering hatred for him that Jimmy had.

Jimmy found Lynda in the kitchen. “Lynda, do you care if I play on your computer?”

She grinned. “Well, I don't mind, Jimmy, but I don't have any games on there.”

“Do you have access to the Internet?”

Lynda couldn't help chuckling. “Yes, as a matter of fact. My modem is hooked to a second phone line, so you can use it all you want. You can probably find some good games on the network I subscribe to.”

She told him the name of the network she used, and he smiled. It was the same one they used at the home.

“You're not an Internet addict, are you?” she asked.

“I just like to surf around and see what's there.”

“Okay. Sure. I'll show you how to turn it on.”

“No, I already know how,” he said.

He went into the area of the great room where the computer sat, and turned it on. He found the icon for her network, registered himself as Lynda's guest, and entered his own screen name from the home's system. Quickly, he got on-line and clicked the “compose mail” button.

He sat there a moment, trying to remember what Brad's screen name was. It was something weird, some combination of letters from his name. Darb? Arbd? Drab? Yes, that was it. Drab and some numbers. His age. That was it. Drab11.

He addressed the letter, under “Subject” put “Secret,” and then tabbed his cursor down to the body of the letter.

Brad,

It's me, Jimmy. Don't tell anybody you saw me here. I don't know what Bill told you, but I'm okay and I'm staying with a friend. I got caught on my mission the other night, but they were nice and didn't turn me in. If Bill finds me, he'll kill me. You know he will.Please don't tell.

Get a message to Lisa. Tell her I'm okay, and I'm trying to get her out of there. Tell her to be ready. I don't know how I'll do it yet, but I will. She can write me back if she wants. I think I can get my e-mail here.

Don't touch any of my stuff, and don't let anybody else get it. Especially my baseball cards. And if you tell, I'll tell the police everything you've ever done. If you keep my secret, maybe I'll try to get you out, too, and we can all find a boxcar to live in like the kids in that book and have fun from now on. Wouldn't that be cool?

Your friend, Jimmy

He clicked the “send” button, and sat back.
Please let him see it. Please let him see it.

“So how's it going?” Lynda asked.

“ Good,” he said, clicking the network off-line, and cutting the computer off.

“Hungry?”

“Sure.”

She led him into the kitchen where a huge breakfast waited.

He wished Lisa was here to share it with him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

B
rad sat down at the computer, too tired to go outside where it was hot and muggy. Instead, he'd gotten permission to stay inside and play on the computer. It was one of the perks that the kids in Bill's “inner circle” got.

He turned on the network, got on-line, and B checked his e-mail for a message from one of his pen pals in another part of the country, a pen pal who didn't know that he was an orphan, or that he lived in a children's home, or that he was a thief.

There was only one message from someone named JWMan. JWMan? It was familiar, but he couldn't remember who used that name. He clicked “read mail,” and saw instantly that it was from Jimmy.

He sat up straighter as he read.

When he was finished, he looked out the window and saw Lisa sitting on a swing on the playground, leaning her head against the chains, as though she might fall asleep and come tumbling off. He went to the door and called out for her. “Lisa!”

She looked up.

“Come here. I have to show you something.”

She looked like she didn't want to, but she got up and shuffled to the door. “What?” she asked belligerently.

“I've got a message for you from Jimmy,” he whispered, taking her hand and pulling her to the computer.

Her eyebrows popped up. “Where?” “Here. Look.”

Lisa sat down in front of the screen and began to slowly read the letter. She had made A's in reading her first-grade year, but she still had to read slowly and concentrate very hard. Her finger followed the words, and she whispered them as she sounded them out, while Brad stood guard making sure no one came in.

Her eyes widened as she got to the part about him seeing her soon. “He's coming to get me!” she said. “We're gonna live in a boxcar! I want to write him back.”

“All right,” Brad said. “Hit ‘reply' and type it in. It'll be under my screen name, but that's okay.”

“Will you type it for me?” she asked.

He glanced toward both doors, then sat back down and put his fingers on the keyboard. “Okay. Tell me what to say.”

“Say, ‘Dear Jimmy, I miss you.'”

“I'm not typing that,” Brad said. “That's gross.”

“You said you would. It's my letter. I can say it if I want.”

He moaned and typed the words. “What else?”

“Please hurry to get me. Bill gave me your job, and I don't like it.”

“Not so fast,” Brad said, still hunting and pecking on the word h-u-r-r-y. He made his way through the rest of the sentence.

“I guess that's all,” she said, her lips beginning to quiver as tears filled her eyes. “I'm glad he's okay. I thought he wasn't coming back. I thought he left me here.”

Brad didn't tell her that he had believed Bill's story about Jimmy being in jail. He might have known it was a lie. The boxcar thing sounded good—real good. They could get somewhere where Bill would never find them. They could get jobs—and until they did they could steal enough to get by. He hoped it would happen soon, before the police tried to arrest all of them.

“Tell me if he writes back,” Lisa said.

Typing his own note now, Brad nodded. “Yeah, don't worry, I will.”

I
n his secret room, Bill Brandon scanned the closed-circuit television monitors that kept him informed of everything that went on at SCCH. He watched with mild curiosity as Brad played in the computer room—then with suspicious puzzlement, watched as Brad called Lisa Westin in. They weren't good friends—in fact,

Brad could hardly tolerate the girl. So why the sudden camaraderie? He saw Lisa sit down and read something on the computer; Brad shuffled around the door, seeming to stand guard. Whatever was going on here, Bill didn't like it.

He waited, stiff, until the boy had turned off the computer and left the room. Then Bill headed across the campus to the computer room. A couple of kids had drifted in since Brad had left. Bill said loudly, “Outside, kids. It's too pretty a day to be playing inside.”

They quickly turned off the computers and headed outside, leaving him alone. He locked the doors, then sat down at the computer Brad had been using. He turned it on, opened the on-line network he allowed them to use, and typed in Brad's screen name. His list of recent mail came up, but there were only three letters. One from some kid who was under the impression that Brad was the son of a congressman and lived in a mansion with a pool. Bill chuckled with disdain.

He clicked the next message, saw that it was part of a stupid conversation that didn't interest him.

Then he clicked the third. It was from someone going by the name of JWMan. He read the first line and knew that JWMan was Jimmy Westin.

His face reddened, and he clicked open the “Read Mail You've Sent” area, where outgoing messages were held. When Brad's log of messages appeared, Bill clicked the most recent one.

Lisa's letter came up, along with Brad's addition.

After he'd read them, he sat staring at the screen, trying to decide what to do. There was no question that Lisa and Brad should be punished for communicating with Jimmy, but he had to do more. He had to put the fear in them, so that they wouldn't tell the other kids what they'd learned. He hoped it wasn't too late. He looked out the window, saw Brad and Lisa talking quietly together at the back of the playground. Lisa was more animated than he'd seen her in days.

He looked back at the screen. Besides punishing the two of them, he had to find a way to make Jimmy come to him, so that he could put him out of commission. Too much was going wrong;

there were too many people out there who knew too much. HRS people sniffing around, reporters trying to write exposes of his operation, cops trying to get warrants for his arrest . . . Bill's whole world was in danger unless he could do some quick damage control, and Jimmy, little Jimmy, was right in the middle of it all. He had to lure Jimmy in somehow.

He clicked “unsend” on the letter the two kids had sent Jimmy, and waited anxiously to see if it was too late. If Jimmy had already opened it, he couldn't get it back. But if he hadn't . . .

The computer said that the letter had been unsent, and he grinned. He clicked “edit,” then made a few changes. He deleted Lisa's portion, then on Brad's typed in, “Lisa's hurt real bad from the beating Bill gave her. Jimmy, you need to come get her before he kills her. I'll leave Stella's window unlocked so you can get in Please hurry!”