The Stolen

44

The money trail was there. A spot-check of Gray Talbot's campaign finance reports showed a yearly influx of

$50,000 dollars from a company called Shepherd Incorporated. Shepherd was owned by Reggie Powers, a shell company set up separately from Powers Construction.

Yearly withdrawals from Shepherd, Inc. were being matched to Gray Talbot. And everyone knew what they would tell us.

Finally the story came together. Several of the players,

I knew, had to believe the bullshit Gray Talbot was spewing. Several of them had to feel that what they were doing was right. That to destroy evil, you had to commit evil. That getting your cause noticed was justification for it all.

It was easy to be cynical. Both Amanda and I came from broken homes, where we could never believe a parent would go to such lengths to allegedly protect us.

Gray Talbot hired Raymond Benjamin to be his eyes, his ears, his gun. All orders went through Benjamin, nothing went to Gray. Benjamin was his wall of protection.

Benjamin, a Hobbs County native, approached Dmitri Petrovsky in order to obtain hospital records of infants born with childhood diabetes. They screened children who would be most susceptible to Korsakoff syndrome.

Once Petrovsky came back with a name, a plan was put in motion.

The child would be kidnapped. Petrovsky would develop a nutritional plan that would keep the child's thiamine levels at a level dangerous enough to cause minor brain damage, enough to bring an onset of Korsakoff, but not so severe that it would endanger the child's life.

When the child was gone, when the police search turned up fruitless, that's when Gray Talbot stepped in. He would trumpet his concern for the welfare of the community. Talk about how crime rates were unacceptable. That children were being snatched from their families.

Millions of dollars would be pumped into the communities through donations, federal and state funding. Police forces would be bolstered. Neighborhood watches on patrol. Broken streetlights fixed. Homes made safe again.

And real estate would slowly creep up.

That's when Talbot would enlist the help of Powers

Construction. Reggie would come in with his trucks and his men, level the homes consumed by crack, rebuild houses that would attract more money than the neighborhood had ever seen.

Talbot would gain a wealthier, more affluent constituency. Powers would make millions from the sweetheart deals. And the communities would be better off.

Everybody won.

Except the children.

Amanda sat in the seat next to me, the radio turned to a soft rock station. The music they played was unthreatening, wouldn't offend any sensibilities, lyrics that couldn't harm a fly. That's all we wanted at that moment. Serenity.

Emotionlessness.

The next few hours would be difficult. We didn't want it to start until it absolutely had to.

After I'd gone on record with the police, handed over my cell phone and explained everything that had happened, I called Amanda immediately. I told her what we had to do. I wasn't sure how the night was going to end, but if we didn't ask that one final question, I didn't know if I'd ever sleep again.

I steered the car, unable to help but think about Danny

Linwood, how in some ways we both had lost years from our childhood. The difference was I had a choice. My memories and experiences helped mold me into what I was now. Danny would need time, years perhaps, to even know who he was.

We arrived at the house shortly past ten o'clock. The porch lights were out. The street was dim save a few lampposts. Turning the engine off, I walked up to one, felt the metal, inspected it. It was well cared for. No graffiti. No damage. It was doing its duty without any interference.

Illuminating a world that was, for better or worse, now a safer place.

"You think they're asleep?" Amanda asked.

"No way. At that age I fought tooth and nail for every extra minute. I'd sneak an AM/FM radio into bed so I could listen to ball games, maybe a book and a flashlight.

I hope kids haven't outgrown that."

"Not outgrown it," she said. "They just have more options now. Portable video games, iPods, televisions the size of a quarter. It's a miracle they don't spend half their time choosing which one to watch."

We stepped up to the porch. I saw the wind chimes again. In a moment they'd be ringing their tune.

I pressed the doorbell, heard a chime go off inside the house. There were footsteps, a woman's voice shouting something. Then the screen door opened, and Shelly

Linwood was standing right in front of us.

She was wearing a terry-cloth bathrobe, her hair done up in rollers. I saw a child run past behind her. Tasha, if I remembered correctly.

"Henry? Henry Parker?" she said, unsure of what to make of this late-night visit.

"Mrs. Linwood," I said. "I need a minute of your time."

"I was just doing my hair," she said. She looked eager to get back to that, but the look on my face told her we weren't leaving anytime soon. Resignedly, she said, "Come on in."

She held the door open for us, and we walked inside.

"Mrs. Linwood, this is Amanda Davies. She works for the New York Legal Aid Society. She's a good friend of mine, and I just thought it would be good for her to meet

Danny. Danny might have some questions she can answer.

And if not, he'll make a new friend."

I saw a mop of hair peek from behind a doorway.

Shelley turned around, said, "Danny, come in here. You remember Henry, right?"

Daniel Linwood tentatively stepped into the room. He'd gained a few pounds since I last saw him, his hair a little longer. His eyes seemed more frightened, his gait more awkward.

"Danny," I said. "This is Amanda."

She stepped forward, knelt down slightly so she was at his level.

"Hey there," she said. "I'm Amanda. Mind if we chat for a bit? I'd love to see your room."

"Show her your Xbox," Shelly said. Danny nodded reluctantly, led Amanda past us and up the stairs.

"Can we sit?" I said. Shelly nodded.

We went into the living room, sat on the same couch where I'd interviewed Danny not too long ago.

"How is he?" I asked.

Shelly sighed, scratched her neck.

"I get a call from his school almost every day. Kids picking on him. Giving him wedgies. Stealing his lunch money. It wasn't like this before."

"He's a different person now," I said. "It's going to take a long time for him to find himself."

"I know," she said. "God, I know."

"Mrs. Linwood," I said. "I want you to hear this from me. And only from me. I want you to know what I know."

She looked up, her eyes big and brown and watery. "Yes?"

"You knew about Daniel's kidnapping. You knew it was going to happen. You knew he would be taken. And you probably told them when they could do it. Know that

I know. Because you'll have to live with that. Live with everyone knowing what you did."

Her mouth fell open. She stared at me, shaking her head, openmouthed.

"No," she said. "My Danny, I didn't-"

"Shelly," I said. "You've been lying too long. I know why you did it. I know you met Raymond Benjamin."

Shelly just sat there, her lower lip trembling.

"When I spoke to Danny, you even brought him a tray of food. Vegetables that would help replenish the thiamine levels that were so low in his brain. Food high in vitamin

B1. Did Petrovsky tell you to do that?"

Shelly sat there, stone silent.

"Did he come to your house? Raymond Benjamin."

She continued to stare, then a tear streaked down her cheek as she nodded.

"Yes," she said.

"What did he say?"

"He told me," Shelly said, sucking in air and wiping her face, "that this town was tearing itself apart. That he'd grown up here, and there were only two options for boys

Danny and James's age. Prison or the grave. Raymond said he'd been to prison, but that's only because he got caught."

"And he offered you a deal," I said. "Right? He would take Danny away for a few years. He would be gone, but he would be safe. And by doing that you would give your children a chance to grow up in a neighborhood where they'd be safe. Where they could make something of themselves."

Shelly nodded. Then she stood up. Went over to the mantel, and took down a framed photograph. She handed it to me.

It was an odd picture. I'd noticed it during my interview with Daniel. And now I thought about the photo I found in Robert Reed's wallet and it all made sense.

The photo was of Shelly's younger son, James. The shot had been taken from about five feet behind him. He was wearing a knapsack, baggy jeans. He was unaware of the photographer.

I turned the frame over and removed the knobs that held it in place. When the backing came off, the back of the photo was visible. One word was printed on it.

Remember.

"Raymond Benjamin gave that photo to me," she said.

"He told me he'd taken it himself. He said if he could get that close to James, others could, too. People who meant him more harm than he did. He said it was a fair trade. A few years of Daniel's life would guarantee the safety of my whole family forever. Daniel would, in a way, be a hero. I never understood how my son could be a hero giving his life for a cause he didn't understand or even know about. I just wanted to believe in some way he was doing it for the future of James and Tasha. And he said that anytime I began to doubt myself or what I'd done, to look at that photo and remember what could happen to the rest of my family."

"What did you do, Shelly?" I asked.

Shelly began to weep. She held her head in her hands.

I felt a modicum of remorse for this woman, but it soon went away.

"I told Benjamin the route Danny took to get home from practice," she said. "Six-thirty every night. I made him promise not to hurt my baby. He told me he wouldn't."

"What else did Benjamin say?"

"He promised me a family would take care of him.

They knew about his diabetes and they would care for him," Shelly said through bloodshot eyes. "And I believed him. At least I wanted to. I needed to know my babies could grow up and lead full lives. I've seen what this town can do to people. I wanted my sons to have something better."

"Is that what Danny has now?" I asked. "Something better?"

"I don't know," she said. "But if he can get out of here and ends up in a safe office, making money, starting a family instead of rotting behind bars or in the dirt, then yes.

He has something better. I know you can't possibly understand that, Henry. Wanting your child to not just survive but live a life. Maybe one day you will. But you can't right now."

"No," I said. "I can't."