Burning Proof (23 page)

THE MORE ABBY AND JULIA TALKED,
the more the woman reminded her of Dede. While in Faye Fallon Abby had seen the compassion she always saw in her aunt, in Julia she saw the patience and kindness that radiated from Dede. She was on the phone now, checking to see if it was okay if Abby came over.

She disconnected and smiled. “Molly’s home and she’d like to talk to you. Why don’t you follow me over, and I’ll introduce you.”

“I’d love to.”

All the way over, Abby prayed for the right words, for the wisdom to know what to say to this girl, this survivor.

The Cavanaughs lived in a subdivision not far from a park. After parking at the curb, Abby followed Julia into the house.

“Molly?” she called out.

“In here, Mom.”

Abby and Julia walked into what looked to Abby like a family room. Her eye was immediately drawn to a bookcase on the wall to her right. There were awards and trophies lined up. Molly’s name was on several swimming awards. She knew the
girl worked on an ambulance and was an EMT. There was a plaque citing her for bravery, for pulling a motorist out of a burning car.

“Molly, this is Detective Hart, the police officer I told you about.”

“Hello, Molly.” Abby stepped toward the girl, who set down the controls to a video game but didn’t stand. She wore a brace on one wrist and a knee-high walking cast on one leg. That foot sat up on an ottoman. The girl’s expression was bland, uninterested.

As Abby looked at Molly, her chest tightened. She smiled and stepped forward to extend her hand.

It was a few seconds before Molly reciprocated and they shook. Molly’s eyes were haunted and Abby recognized them; they were victim eyes. This girl had endured brutality, lived through it, and discovered it was often harder to survive than it was to escape.

Abby had struggled with the loss of her parents in much the same way. But when she heard the message of Christ, the burden lifted.
But Molly knows the message, yet she is in despair.

Please, Lord, help me to help this girl,
Abby prayed as she saw the scars on Molly’s uncovered wrist. Abby knew they were there because she’d been cutting herself
 
—not to commit suicide, but to replicate the cuts the rapist’s ropes left all those years ago. Like her mother had said, because he’d never been caught, the girl doubted her own memory of the attack.

Suddenly Abby’s world, her focus, shifted into clarity.

The years of her own obsession.

The pain and disappointment of coming so close to a solution only to have it snatched away.

The shooting.

And everything that pressed on her own soul and sent her running away to her aunt.

But Dede had helped her to realize there’s really no place to hide if you live life with a purpose. And her purpose for five years had been acting as a voice for those who had theirs brutally silenced. Abby knew that well now, as well as she knew that God was sovereign in all things, good and bad. Althea had even said it:
“The Lord can and does bring good out of the bad, the painful.”

Helping people like Molly to see that she couldn’t let that one evil act define her
 
—drain the life from her, keep her from her purpose
 
—was Abby’s calling.

How can I help her to see all of this? How can I help her to stand whether or not her bad guy is ever caught?

“You think you can help me, huh?”

Taken aback by the semi-hostile tone, Abby ignored the challenge. “I’m Abby.” She pointed at the plaque. “You pulled someone from a burning car? Impressive.”

Molly hiked one shoulder, but something flickered in her eyes. Pride maybe? “My partner and I rolled up on a crash that just happened. We had to help; there was no way we could drive past. That was a few years ago.”

“Still, it takes courage to face fire like that. I hate fire.”

“Can I get you something to drink, Abby?” Julia asked. “Tea? Soda? Molly, do you want anything?”

“I’m fine.” Abby moved to take a seat.

But Molly stopped her and pushed herself up. “I feel like a walk, like being outside. Do you want to take a walk, Detec
 
—uh, Abby?”

“That would be great. But your cast?”

“I’ve got a kneeling walker.” She pointed and Abby noticed the walker by the side of the couch. “It finally doesn’t hurt so much. I just need to go slow.”

Julia wrung her hands. “I think that means she’d like to just talk to you and not have Mom hovering. It’s a nice day. Go; have a good talk.” She smiled nervously and motioned for Abby and Molly to leave.

Abby was unsure for a minute, but when Molly moved past her, grabbed the walker, set her knee on it, and pushed toward the front door, she followed, deciding to let the young woman set the tone of the meeting and the speed of the walk. She agreed with Julia; it was a nice day. But the wind was annoying.

“It’s always windy here,” Molly said as if reading Abby’s mind.

“I guess I’ll have to get used to eggbeater hair.” Her comment got no reaction, and Abby wondered if she could reach this girl, if Molly would open up.

They were almost to the park when Abby saw Molly’s frown, the anger in the close-knit brows.

“What is it, Molly? Are you in pain?”

“Pain?” She huffed derisively. “Lately, I don’t know what it’s like
not
to be in pain.”

Struggling to find words, the right response, Abby was surprised when Molly turned and opened up, venting with both barrels.

“My mom thinks you can help me. Well, everything in my life sucks.” She hopped on one leg and turned the walker to better face Abby. “You can help with that? Good luck. My mom keeps praying for me, keeps calling on the prayer chain to lift
me up.” She raised one hand in a mocking gesture and rolled her eyes. “I just don’t believe all that anymore. God is not good. He’s supposed to be all-powerful. Then why did he let what happened to me happen? I was a good kid; I believed in all the God malarkey then; I even wore a purity ring. Then out of the blue I’m kidnapped and raped. And on top of all that, a car hits me. Talk about piling on! If you believe all the stuff my mom does, then tell me: Why has he deserted me? Why doesn’t he care?”

Taken aback by the vehemence but not the questions, Abby motioned to a bench. “Why don’t we have a seat?”

She’d asked the same questions herself but made peace with not knowing all the answers. She tried to think of what to say to this angry victim. What would Dede say?

She realized in an instant that for her answer to matter, to mean anything at all, it had to be hers. It had to come from Abby and from her own struggle and solution or it would mean squat to Molly.

“Molly, I asked those same questions when I lost my parents. I barely understood the concept of God then, but I thought he was someone who helped good people, and as far as I was concerned, my parents were good.”

“I made one mistake, accepting that ride. And I paid. God punished me.”

“Sweetie, God doesn’t work that way. I was only six when my parents died. Do you think he was punishing me?”

Molly looked at her, sniffling, but not crying.

“What horrible sin could a six-year-old commit that would make God punish her with the loss of her parents?” Abby asked.

Voice dripping with bitterness, Molly asked, “But what
happened to me feels like punishment, like God was mad. If he wasn’t mad, why did that guy get away? And since God was so quick to punish me, why has he taken so long to punish the bad guy?”

Abby pushed her hair back from her face, working to keep her tone calm, her posture relaxed. Molly was spoiling for a fight, but that wasn’t why Abby was here. “What happened to you was evil, period. The man who kidnapped you deserves to be in jail. Why is he still free?” She threw her hands up. “I can’t answer the why questions for you any more than I can answer the why questions for me. But I’ve learned so much in the last twenty-five years about God. He is good; he loves us; he sent his Son to die for us before we were even ready to repent from our own evil.”

Molly raised the front wheel of the walker and slammed it down. “I’ve heard that so often that it makes me want to puke. After I was rescued and home safe, I prayed for justice, for that man to be caught so I could see him get what he deserved and feel better. God failed me. He didn’t listen then, and he’s not listening now.”

Abby shifted gears. “I read the report. You told the officers when you were rescued that you prayed for God to save you and then the trunk popped open. At the time you said you thought it was an answered prayer, a miracle.”

“I remember.” She made a face as if smelling something bad. “But over the years I’ve decided that there’s no such thing as miracles. I was just lucky he had a newer car with a latch inside to pop the trunk, and I was fortunate enough to hit the latch.”

The wind whipped and Abby paused, unsure how to reach this girl who seemed content in her self-pity, her anger at God.
Althea came to mind. Althea, who had lost so much yet stepped out of her pain to forgive Abby. What was it she’d said? She couldn’t honor her loved ones’ memories by staying bitter. Molly had lost her innocence, any illusion that the world was a safe place, and her faith in God. Staying bitter would only make it worse for her. But how to get through to her?

Dede didn’t pull any punches to get to me. Maybe that’s the tack I need to take.
Praying she was right, Abby stared at Molly, who was looking away.

“Why do you want the bad guy to win?”

Molly jerked around, her face scrunched in disbelief. “What? I don’t want him to win. I want him in jail, punished for what he did to me.”

“Every day you’re stuck in the past, whining about how God failed you by letting that man get away, you’re letting him win.”

“He’s already won because he got away scot-free. That’s not fair.”

“I agree it’s not fair. I agree it sucks. It makes me angry. When I was a kid, I used to scream and yell at God all the time, demand to know why he let my parents be taken.”

“And you got your answers? Is that why you’re fine now?” Her tone was brittle, dripping with sarcasm.

“No. I didn’t get any answers, at least not the ones I wanted.”

“Now you’re going to tell me I just have to learn to deal with it? I don’t want to!”

Abby shook her head. “What’s the alternative? Are you going to stay a prisoner in the trunk of the car? Are you going to let him keep you tied up and cowering for the rest of your life? If so, then he’s won the Publishers Clearing House of life.”

“What do you mean? I’m nobody’s prisoner.”

Abby stood and grabbed her wrist. “Look at this. Look at you. Staying here in your parents’ house, hiding from the world. I know what happened to you is awful. I understand it’s easy for your parents to protect you, to allow this to go on because they love you and want to keep you safe. News flash: the world is out there. It’s not pretty at times and it’s not safe. But you have a life to live, and every day you waste by hiding, you’re letting that man take away from you.”

Molly yanked her hand out of Abby’s grasp and said nothing.

Abby tried again. “Molly, people who say they believe in God need to know the God they believe in. He never promised life in this world would be easy or pain free. What he did promise was that he would be with us, no matter what. He was with you in that car ten years ago and he’s with you now. He may tell you why it all happened. He may not. He will judge the man who hurt you whether we catch him or not.”

“I’m tired of hearing what
will
happen. I want it to happen
now
. I’m tired of hearing everything works together for good sometime in the
future
. I don’t deserve to be forgotten.” Molly stood scowling, arms folded.

Abby saw herself in Molly but knew she was losing the battle with this girl.

“Every step you take away from God is letting the bad guy win. Throwing a temper tantrum and stomping your feet is letting the evil win. We may catch this bad guy; we may not. You have no control over that. You do have control over how you live the life you have in front of you.”

“I was wrong,” Molly said. “I thought you would be different. I thought you would understand, but you’re just like everyone else. God failed me; that’s it.” She wrenched the
walker around so she could stand and rest her knee on it and leave.

Abby grabbed one side of the handlebar to stop her. “God doesn’t fail. I’m sorry I can’t answer the why questions you have. But I do know that God is still God. No one escapes his justice. There is nowhere to run, nowhere for anyone to hide. You need to stand up straight, beat the man that hurt you by living your life, stepping forward with your head up no matter what you face.”

Molly looked away, but Abby didn’t let go. “You proved that you could do that when you ran into the flames to pull that person out of the car. Stuff like that beats the man who hurt you. Stuff like that honors all you lost and smashes all the evil done to you.”

Still no response.

Abby let go. “I’m staying at the La Quinta. I’ll be there at least until tomorrow. Call me if you want to talk any more.”

Molly hopped away with a determined push of the walker.

Abby watched her go, and her heart broke with the failure she felt.

GIL WAS CLOSING UP SHOP.
Bart had already left with the day’s earnings to make a deposit at the bank. A couple minutes before he could get to the front door to lock it, a big man in a suit walked in. He looked to Gil like a cop. Gil moved to the counter, where he had a gun within reach. He didn’t want to go out that way, but if this guy
 
—he might even be a fed
 
—forced his hand, so be it.

“We’re just closing,” Gil told the man.

“I won’t be a minute. Are you Gil?”

The British accent threw Gil. This guy wasn’t a fed; was he?

“Who’s asking?”

“My name’s not important. Your friend Jerry sent me.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and from that counted out some bills, five hundred-dollar bills. “I need something.”

“You look like a cop.”

“I’m no cop. I’m looking for some things. Jerry says you can help.” He put a handwritten list on top of the bills.

Gil read the list. It was all stuff he had, but he didn’t trust this guy at all. And he didn’t have time to play games with
anyone, much less someone who was probably a bad undercover cop. He needed to stall, give himself time to think.

“When do you need it by?”

“ASAP, Ace. ASAP.”

“Soonest I can do it would be tomorrow morning.”

“First thing?”

“Around ten.”

“Nine?”

“Fine, nine.”

“This money is a down payment.” The Brit slid the money to Gil. “There’ll be five more when you deliver.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The guy nodded and left Gil alone in the shop. Gil crumpled up the list and tossed it in the trash. The money he shoved into a drawer before he rolled himself to the door to lock up and head home.