Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (23 page)

Doing my best to stay focused, I walked past Aspen, pushing her to the side gently with my arm as I approached the detective. His hand was extended and I shook it. His eyes widened in surprise. I used a firm grip to let him know that I was no one to be trifled with. As much as I needed his support, I had no plans to be a pushover with the police. Especially not one who was communicating with my wife secretly for months.

“What can I do for you?” the detective asked, placing both hands on his hips and exposing his badge.

Your badge doesn’t intimidate me, Detective.

“I want you to put Clarence Black in jail for the rest of his natural life,” I said as calmly as possible. I wasn’t about to mince words. Not today.

The room fell silent. Cooke tipped his head forward in obvious disbelief, and Aspen’s mouth hung open in shock, her skin pale, her eyes wide in total confusion. I knew her mind must have been racing a mile a minute.

“What?” Aspen blurted, but I ignored her.

“Excuse me?” Cooke asked. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“You heard me
just
fine. Let’s take that son of a bitch
down
.”

Another pause hung over the room. Aspen and Cooke exchanged glances, and it pained me to see her communicate with another man without saying a word.

They know each other very well. Maybe too well.

You may have lost her, Paul, you stupid man. You took too long to hear her out, and now she’s found someone else to protect her.

Aspen, as if she could read the expression on my face, took my hand in hers. “Is this a dream? Are you really here?”

I turned to face her. “Detective, may I have a moment alone with my wife?”

Instead of answering me, the detective set his eyes on Aspen and waited for her response. She nodded to him, letting him know she was comfortable, and he left the room without another word.

“What are you doing here?” Aspen asked, an urgency and excitement hung in her voice.

“So much has happened; I’ve been trying to talk to you for two days now.”

“I noticed, but I thought . . .” She paused. “I thought maybe you were onto me, that you knew about Jonathan and me.”

I tilted my head to the side as adrenaline spiked within my gut.

Jonathan and me.
No three words ever burned as much as those did.

Again, as if my facial expressions spoke thousands of words, Aspen took both hands in mine. “No, not like that. No, Paul. I just mean . . . well, I mean that he’s helping me. I didn’t have anyone else. I tried, you
know
I tried, but—”

“I see. Well, I’d like to help too, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll . . .” Her words trailed off and her eyes grew wet. She looked down at her feet, then back up at me. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that. But I don’t understand. What happened? What made you change your mind?”

“There’s so much to tell you, and I have so much to apologize for, to repent and ask, to beg for your forgiveness. But for now, let’s just talk about the basics, all right?”

“Of course.”

I crossed the room to the door and invited the detective back inside. “Two nights ago, my son was brutally attacked, he came home with bruises and wounds I don’t even want to say out loud.”

“Oh no,” Aspen gasped. “Who?”

“Isaac.”

She gasped again, then sat on the nearest chair, clutching her mouth with both hands, her eyes pressed tight. “I ca—I can’t—”

“This is what we were afraid of,” Cooke said, shaking his head back and forth. “With so many victims, it was bound to hit close to home eventually.”

“Yes.”

“Is your son willing to press charges?”

“Absolutely,” I answered. “Is that all we need to do? Then you’ll arrest him?”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Your son will have to come in and give a statement, and we’ll have a stronger case if we can find more than one victim. Friends of ours are working on getting some statements from others who’ve left the compound.”

He used the word
ours
in reference to himself and my
wife
. I wanted to punch him in the throat. However, I followed the advice I gave my wives and children on the daily to keep sweet.

You must keep sweet, Paul. Besides, she turned to him because of you . . . because you turned your back on her. You only have yourself to blame. Keep sweet, you stupid man.

“Just tell me what to do.”

“Are you sure Isaac can handle that? From what Jonathan’s told me, there’ll be a trial. He’ll have to testify in court. He’s such a sweet boy. I just don’t know if—”

“He’ll be fine. He’s turning eighteen in a few weeks, and I’m confident he’ll handle it. I’ll help him in any way I can.”

The detective looked cynical. “Testifying to sexual abuse can be traumatic . . . for anyone. Maybe you should talk to your son first, make sure he’s okay with telling his story in a courtroom, to a group of twelve strangers. I just want you to be sure.”

“Look, I’m not taking this lightly, I’m not. I’m sure it will be one of the worst experiences of his life, but I’ll help him. I’ll explain that he’ll be helping thousands of people in our community—that he’s preventing other kids from being hurt. Isaac has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know. He’ll want to keep others from going through what he went through. I
know
it.”

Aspen took my hand in hers and the detective cringed. “If Paul believes he can do it, then so do I.”

Pride swarmed my gut as I squeezed her hand in gratitude.

She’s coming back to you, Paul . . . you haven’t lost her yet. Hold on, hold on tight.

I swallowed hard. “Who are these friends you mentioned? The ones who are working on statements from other victims.”

I glanced at Aspen, but she looked confused. She shook her head and shrugged before turning to the detective for answers.

“Porter Hammond and his wife, Brinley. They used to be a part of your community.”

A vision of a kid with blond hair, blue eyes, and a lot of attitude crossed through my brain. “I knew Porter. He worked on one of my sites. Good kid, chip on his shoulder, but a good kid.”

“Well, he was . . .” The detective glanced at Aspen before continuing. “He was a victim.”

“What?” Aspen screeched. “He
what
?”

Cooke turned to Aspen. “I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. I was planning to tell you; it’s why I called your cell phone.”

Aspen stared off into space. “Poor Porter. Is he all right? I can’t imagine what he must be going through . . . and Brinley too.”

“That explains why he was pissed at the world,” I muttered.

“Yeah, something like that,” the detective said. “Statute of limitations keeps him from pressing charges, but he knows a lot of lost boys.”

“Lost boys?” I asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“It’s what we, on the outside, call the boys who are kicked out of your compound. The ones who end up out here. It’s based on a story called Peter Pan. The lost boys have no parents; they’re all alone with no guidance. They have to raise themselves, many of them with little to no money. It usually leads to drugs, crime, and many other things I’d rather not mention.”

“I see.” The thought of Isaac becoming a lost boy made me sick to my stomach. The idea of him scrounging for food and shelter increased the anger already festering in my brain.

I’ll never let that happen.

“
He and Brinley are going to talk to some of the guys they know, see if anyone’s willing to come forward. It’s a tough thing for most to talk about, for obvious reasons. In fact, I’m surprised your boy said anything, quite honestly.”

“He’s blunt and honest to a fault, always has been.” I shrugged. “He came home terrified of the pain he was feeling. He didn’t understand it, and I think he was still in shock.”

“Got it,” Cooke said. “It’s going to take some time to get the ball rolling. We have to get him here for a statement before we can issue a warrant. Can you bide some time until then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tip your hand. We don’t want the prophet to suspect anything. Can you keep Isaac quiet?”

“His mother and I are the only ones who know. He’s not very social with the other kids, but I’ll ask him not to share this. I know he’ll listen, he’s a good boy.”

“He is,” Aspen said with a nod.

“My concern is this: Clarence told my son that he had forty-eight hours before he would be gone from the compound.”

“He can stay with me if you—”

“No, absolutely not.”

Aspen touched my forearm. “Paul, he’ll be safe.”

“That’s not it.” I shook my head. “I promised my boy he wasn’t going anywhere. I
promised
him, and I intend to keep that promise no matter what.”

The detective’s face fell. “I’m not sure what to say. He’s safer off the compound.”

I held my chin high and puffed out my chest. “Well, that’s where you and I differ, Detective. I happen to think my son is safer with
me
.”

He held his hands out in front of him. “All right, all right, I get it.”

“We can hide him,” Aspen said, rising to her feet.

“What?”

“Yes. You can pretend to take him off the compound if the prophet demands it. You pretend and make everyone think he’s gone, even the rest of the family. But we hide him somewhere in the house. We could use your study; it’s tucked away on the other side of the house, far away from the bedrooms. And it has its own bathroom. It could work.”

“Maybe,” I said, not convinced. “The idea of submitting to my brother makes me furious. I think I should tell him that he’ll never be rid of me
or
my boy and that if he ever lays a finger on—”

“No!” Aspen and the detective shouted in unison. I glared at them, dumbfounded and resentful they were on the same wavelength in their thoughts.

I threw up my arms in frustration and placed them on the top of my head as I paced the room. “Why the hell
not
?”

“Because then he’ll
know
, Paul. He’ll know that you’re onto him.”

“Not necessarily.”

“No, she’s right,” Cooke interjected, and I gritted my teeth in response. I hated having him in between my wife and me. Hated it. But I needed his help and was therefore at his mercy.

“Fine, so I keep my mouth closed. Then what?”

“I think Aspen’s onto something. Keep Isaac hidden as best you can. Stage some sort of evacuation of him, his stuff. Make the family think he’s gone, bring him here and he can give his statement. Then, when everyone’s asleep you can take him back, sneak him in so no one knows.”

“And Sarah? Can I tell her?”

“No, it’s in her best interest to think he’s gone.”

“What? No, I can’t do that to her—she’s been through enough.”

“I’m sorry, Paul. I don’t want to hurt her any more than you do, but it sounds like it’s the way to go. Sarah isn’t one to hide her emotions well. Everyone, especially Flora, will see right through her if she tries to pretend.”

She was right and I knew it, but the idea of putting Sarah through any more distress pained me greatly. “All right, fine. Only for a short time, right? You can get these charges pushed through quickly?”

“As fast as humanly possible, I promise. I just have to check in with Porter, make sure he’s still meeting with these guys soon.”

“All right. And what can I do on my end?”

“Like I said, play along with the prophet, pretend to kick Isaac out, but bring him here. I’ll take care of the rest.” Detective Cooke extended his hand to me once again. “Thanks for being on board. We needed you more than you know.”

I let his words set in and I locked eyes with Aspen. She pressed her lips together tight and smiled, nodding slowly. I smiled at her and then looked back at the detective.

“All right, Detective. Let’s get it done.”

Chapter 21

Brinley held Porter’s hand ever so tight as they sat in his old apartment on Wilson Avenue. Not much had changed since the last time she’d been there; same furniture in the living room, same posters on the walls, same garbage piling up in the kitchen. The smell was also what she remembered from her visits in the past—a stale, dank odor hovered throughout the two-bedroom apartment and nipped incessantly at her nose. Porter’s cousin Charlie had agreed to gather as many of their fellow former FLDS friends as possible, and he’d managed to get twelve guys to show up on that dreary Sunday afternoon. Some had left many years ago, like Porter. Some were taken under the wings of Charlie and others within the last year. The living room was filled with sullen faces. It was obvious to Brinley that several of them were on something, while others seemed scared of their own shadows and wouldn’t dare do something forbidden by their religion—in the hopes of one day being welcomed back.

That day wouldn’t come for any of them.

Charlie’s apartment was the natural location for this gathering as many of the young men seated in the littered room had either lived there, gotten high there on a regular basis, or simply felt safe within its walls. And with Porter and Brinley’s home being almost an hour away from town, it was much more likely for the guys to actually show up to Charlie’s place.