Silent Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense

Chapter 50

SUNDAY WAS MOTHER’s DAY. It was also the first anniversary of Billy Elkins’s death. A memorial service was being held in a Blackwood park, not just for Billy, but for all eleven of the Blackwood children who had died prematurely from leukemia.

Ben and Christina stood with Cecily and the other parents in a circle surrounding a blazing bonfire. The base of the fire was girded by eleven shrouded stones, one for each of the children.

“Thanks for your help with the bonfire,” Cecily said quietly. “That’s quite a blaze. What did you use for fuel?”

“All the documents from the lawsuit,” Christina answered. “Almost two hundred bankers boxes filled with memos, evidence, and exhibits.”

Ben nodded. “And in the end, it all came down to one ten-page report. A report written by a disgruntled lawyer who later became a multiple murderer.”

“That’s too strange,” Cecily said, shaking her head. “Strange and … frightening.”

“It is frightening,” Ben agreed. “Because it means that at one time in his life, Jack Matthews was willing to take a stand, to stick his neck out for what he knew was right. And it cost him. Cost him so much that he eventually snapped. Became obsessed with tracking down his "merchandise." Making sure he didn’t get cheated again.” He paused. “We like to think of killers as being all bad, pure evil, but clearly that wasn’t the case with Matthews, at least not originally. I suppose it proves the capacity for good and evil exists in all of us.” He stared into the blazing bonfire. “That’s why it’s so frightening.”

“Matthews is gone now,” Christina said quietly. “Best not to think about it.”

Cecily turned her head. “I read about that. He was killed when his yacht exploded?”

“Yes,” Ben said, not looking at her. “He died in the explosion. Didn’t get out in time.”

“And the money?”

“The bonds must’ve burned up with everything else.”

“So no one will ever have the benefit of all that wealth,” Christina said. “Not Tony Montague, the first thief, and not any of the subsequent ones.” She shook her head. “All that agony. All that death. For nothing.”

A few of the parents who were in the Blackwood First Baptist Church began to sing softly—the “Air From County Deny,” one of Ben’s favorite requiem pieces. It started quietly, just on the threshold of audibility. It gave him shivers.

“I want to thank you both for coming,” Cecily said. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” Ben replied.

“Me too,” Christina added. “I read that the EPA has allocated funds to clean up the Blackwood aquifer. Make Well B safe again.”

“Yes,” Cecily answered. “It’s wonderful news.”

“Of course, Blaylock still isn’t admitting any responsibility,” Ben noted. “But after the blue report hit the press, he agreed to contribute substantial sums to help with the cleanup.”

“Do you realize that since Well B was closed down, there hasn’t been another case of childhood leukemia in Blackwood? Not one. Eleven cases during Well B; none after. I think that says it all.”

“Common sense may not count for much in the courtroom,” Ben agreed. “But it certainly is useful in real life.”

“The parents met last night,” Cecily continued. “We’ve decided to create a fund with the settlement money.”

“A fund?” Christina asked. “To do what?”

“To prevent this from happening again.” She stared into the fire, which was now rising taller than their heads. “We’ll start slow, then build as more of the money comes in. We want to train people to respond to complaints promptly, test water supplies effectively, identify potential carcinogens. Perhaps in time we can even afford to help with the cleanups.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Ben said.

“It wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Ben shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Having finished the air, the choir began “Amazing Grace.” Most of the parents joined in, some of them humming, some of them singing the words. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me …”

Ben felt goose pimples racing up his arms. “Looks like those trial exhibits are gone for good, Christina.”

She shrugged. “It was a relief to get them out of the office. Although now, with all the furniture and equipment gone, too, there’s not much left.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened to you,” Cecily said. “Perhaps we could give you some kind of loan.…”

Ben stopped her cold. “Absolutely not. We’ll take our fair share and not a cent more. You have great plans for that money; stick with them. We’ll be all right. We’ll get our stuff back in time. We’ve paid off the most urgent bills.”

“But you don’t have anything to live on. And you still have debt.”

“We’ll get by. We always have.”

Cecily did not appear satisfied, but she let the subject drop.

One by one, each of the parents stepped forward and removed the shroud from one of the stones. As they did so, they spoke their child’s name out loud.

“Emily Quatro.”

“Jason Bennet.”

“Jim Foley.”

Then they each said a few words about their child—describing his or her tastes, preferences, personality.

At last, it was Cecily’s turn.

“My Billy loved books,” she said. “He was a great reader. His hero was Robert Louis Stevenson. He even loved poetry. Can you imagine? A twelve-year-old boy who loved poetry.”

She placed her hand on one of the shrouds. “This is the last part of his favorite poem; he knew it by heart: "This be the verse you grave for me/Here he lies where he long’d to be/Home is the sailor, home from the sea …"“ She paused, her voice trembling. “And the hunter home from the hill."“ She bent down and removed the shroud from the stone.

Ben turned and saw Christina had tears in her eyes. “This is so sad.”

Ben put his arm around her. “But a little less sad than it was, I think.” He stared into the flames. “A little less sad because, by standing firm and refusing to quit, these parents were able, in their quiet way, to extract some tiny measure of justice.” He turned toward Cecily. “That’s what this case was all about.”

In steady quietude, Cecily took a candle from a box and, approaching the fire, lit it. She inserted it in a brass holder and set it beside one of the uncovered stones. “This is for Billy,” she said. Her voice cracked slightly. “He’s what this case was all about.”