Set You Free (20 page)

Marlene looks at me there on her front porch.

“You look frazzled,” she says. And I love her for it. I step inside, and she shuts the door. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

“For the past two years. For suddenly no longer being your friend.”

“You were with different people,” she says. “Same here.” She shrugs, as if my abandoning her was nothing more than a missed step along the road. Something neither of us could have seen coming but that doesn’t change anything that came before.

“Well, I’m still sorry.”

“And you still don’t have to be.” She smiles. She’s as big as ever, but her whole family is big. I see her mom out jogging now and then, but she never seems to slim at all. Her brother is in the fifth grade and is already the size of a small tank.

Families just work that way.

“Can I use your computer?” I say.

“Sure.” Again, without question. There’s the sound of sirens as more emergency vehicles rip past the house.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” she says.

We go up to her room. It smells of lilacs and cinnamon, like the kind of place a good person spends time.

Marlene logs in to her computer, then sits on her bed where she can’t see what is on the screen. “Should I ask what is going on?”

I put the
USB
drives into the computer and wait. “It’s my brother,” I say.

“Yeah, I heard about all that.”

The directory window opens. At first there is nothing. Then tiny lights on each of the drives come on, and files fill the screen.

It’s ridiculous. They didn’t even bother to hide the names. The files are called things like
Payment from Centrum Construction
and
Balance for Andre Tree Removal
. There’s one called
Proof of Bribes
.

I open up the Centrum file, which turns out to be a balance sheet of payments and expectations. It looks as if this particular company has already paid Jack Carter over two hundred thousand dollars for his vote and support in city council meetings.

And all the files are like this. As I read through them, a clearer picture appears: Jack’s been playing construction companies against one another. Getting more and more cash as the stakes were raised.

And Grady was right. Jack has his sights set on that industrial complex as the next big Web-based business hub, and his land around Otomo Lake as the vacation spot of choice.

He’s set to make millions after he leaves public office. Even if all of this came out once he was no longer mayor, it wouldn’t matter. His brother would have been the official owner of the property. If anyone decided they’d been on the losing end of a deal, he would have proof that they bribed him—or, if these files could be seen a different way, attempted to bribe him.

He has rough building plans, payouts from different businesses interested in a spot in the reworked industrial complex—he’s even accepted payments from professional cleaning services for the exclusive rights to the buildings. I expect it was his brother who was the face of all these deals. If anyone knew it was the mayor behind this, they’d be very hard pressed to prove it.

Unless, of course, they had these files.

“Do you have something there that’s going to help your brother?” Marlene asks.

“Not really,” I say. “But it’s going to be a start.” I log in to my web mail and bring up the addresses I have saved there. Ben Richer at the
Post
, Dawn Coarse at the
Sun
, Frank Hardy at the
Resurrection Falls Times
. I add reporters from the
New York Times
and the larger papers in Albany.

I add Detective Evans’s address and start attaching files.

The subject line is simple:
Major Corruption in the Resurrection Falls Mayor’s Office
.

Luckily, Jack created many of the documents on his work computer, so the files are date-stamped as well as having
Property of Jack Carter, Mayor
, tagged in the properties.

He must have been so sure he would get away with it all. That he was entirely untouchable.

I manage to get a quarter of the files attached before I reach the size limit. I send the document to Drafts and start on the next bunch of files.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” I say to Marlene.

“Sure,” she says.

“Actually, two favors. First, I have to leave in a second. Can you send these emails once I’m out of here?”

“That sounds easy enough.”

“Also, can I borrow your car?”

“No problem,” Marlene says.

It just about makes me cry.

I had totally written this girl off. But there’s still no hesitation on her part. She’ll lend me her car. She’ll help me out. And she won’t even ask any questions.

“I’m trying to be a better person,” I say.

“You’ve never been a bad person,” Marlene says.

“Yeah, I have. But I’m trying to be better.”

TWENTY-SIX

I am halfway downtown in Marlene’s mint-green Volvo when Detective Evans texts me.

What are these e-mails?

I pull over to text back.
Another truth.

I wait. The engine rumbles beneath me. Cars flash past.

These are personal files
, she texts.

They are proof of what Jack Carter has been doing,
I reply.
He’s selling this town out for his own gain. If anyone has Ben, it’s the mayor’s brother, Joe.

I wait again, my heart hammering. Now that it is all coming together, I’m anxious and afraid it will fall apart.

Her response pops up on my screen.
What are these pictures of a car I received earlier?

A year ago JJ Carter’s car was reported stolen
, I type.
It wasn’t stolen. It was likely involved in the death of Michael Brent on Beacon Hill Road and then hidden to conceal the crime. The mayor was aware of this as well.

There’s no reply, so I drive on toward downtown.

The glow of a dozen cruisers lights up the end of Fallgate Road. I take a right toward the river. There are people everywhere, and the driving is slow. I turn my face away from the other cars and the people on the sidewalks and hope I’m not too late.

Percy Street dead-ends near the rapids that give Resurrection Falls its name. I pull into the parking lot near the falls and shut off the engine.

Are you going to bring the mayor in for questioning?
I text.
Did you know that Joe Fisher even existed? Will you be interviewing JJ Carter?
I wait for two minutes as the engine clicks and cools. I think back to something Grady said. Something so simple, so absolutely basic.

Everything is about wanting.

Everything.

And if you can promise someone they will receive the one thing they want, you can get anything from them.

I can bring you Tom
, I text.
But only if Mayor Carter is in custody and explaining what those files are all about.

I get an immediate response.
I can’t promise that.

Mayor Carter has to be at the police station before I bring Tom out. Otherwise, you will never find him. Ever.

Does he have Benjamin?
she texts.

I laugh. Ben doesn’t matter, and I know it. She wants Tom to be guilty. She wants him to be the monster she thinks he is. And she wants to be the hero who stops him.

She wants that more than anything.

The mayor in police custody first,
I type. I wait for a response, and when it comes, I’m not the slightest bit surprised.

What is in this for you?

I look at the screen and type
Everything
. There’s another long pause. I watch as police cars troll the streets. A group of officers enters the shops at the end of the block. This whole area has been abandoned for months. Every window little more than a dusty frame for For Rent signs. One shop after another closed as the big-box stores moved in on the edge of town and forced them out.

On his way to station
, comes a text at last.

Promise?

Promise. Now where is your brother?

I’ll bring him to you.

I get out of the car and wait as the officers across the street break down the door of what was once a knife shop. That was all it sold—knives. There was one along here that only sold hot sauce, and another that had a dozen or so shirts on a rack and maybe another dozen pairs of shoes.

The night has cooled, and I wish I was wearing something more. I turn back to Marlene’s car and find a sweatshirt on the backseat. It’s big on me, but at least it’s black and warm. I grab Ben’s elephant from the passenger seat and stuff it inside the sweatshirt.

The streetlights are bright, leaving me fully exposed as I run across the street, trying to stay in the shadows. If I get spotted out here, at the very least I’ll be turned away. At worst, someone will recognize me, and ten minutes from now I’ll be sitting in a little room in the police station, trying to explain myself and all I’ve done.

The alley behind the buildings on Percy Street is filled with garbage bins. The walls are a riot of graffiti. The blurp of sirens breaks the silence, along with a muddle of words and sounds from walkie-talkies.

I stop when I find the door. There’s still an old handmade sign there. Nothing special at all. Just
Radicals Records
written on cardboard and taped in a spot above the door where rain can’t get at it. I consider knocking, then open the door and step inside.

“Hello,” I whisper. I can’t see anyone at first. The darkness is more complete inside than out. I say it again. “Hello, Tom? Ben?” I turn on the flashlight app on my phone. Its circle of light brings out all the edges and corners of the room.

“What took you so long?” Tom says as he steps out from behind a cabinet. His hair seems to have grown in the few
days since I last saw him. He’s also sporting a bit of stubble, which makes me laugh. He seems so grown-up.

That is, until I notice his fingers are coated in orange Cheezies dust.

“Things did not go entirely as planned,” I say.

Benny steps out from behind him. He has Cheezies dust on his fingers too, as well as all over his face.

“We have to go,” I say. Ben rushes across the room and takes my hand. “Benny. How are you?” I pick him up and feel his little body shivering. Something drops inside me. A rock that has been sitting in the middle of my throat for days.

“I’m well,” he says. It makes me laugh how polite and proper he is. He throws his arms around my neck. He smells like old milk and dirty socks.

“We have to get going,” I tell him. “That’s okay, right?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Is there a safe way out?” Tom asks.

They’ve been staying in what was once the back room of the record shop. The owner left behind a fridge, a microwave and a single bed when he cleared out. There’s a SpongeBob SquarePants sleeping bag on the floor, surrounded by coloring books, a Nintendo DS and a paperback edition of
His Dark Materials
.

I pull Benny’s stuffed elephant out from beneath Marlene’s sweatshirt and hand it to him.

“You forgot this,” I say.

He lets go of me for a moment and hugs it. “Ricky!” he says. He wraps his arms around my neck again, squishing the elephant between us. “Thank you.”

“The alley was clear when I came in,” I say, looking up at my brother. “But the police are moving from building to building. It won’t be long.”

“Someone spotted me,” Tom says. “Ben wanted chocolate milk, and I thought I could get out and back without a problem. It’s only three doors down.”

I squeeze Ben.

“I’m sorry, Lauren,” Tom says.

I feel angry. Or not even angry—just annoyed that he didn’t stick to the plan. But this is Tom to the core. He thinks about others first. And he’s always trying to save people.

“Where’s my mom?” Ben says. “Tom said you’d bring her.”

“She’s waiting for you, Benny. You’ll see her in a minute.” I open the door and peer up and down the alley. I can hear banging and sirens in the distance. The rumble of walkie-talkies. It’s possible that we cut it too close.

“Okay, come on,” I say, gathering Ben up in my arms and stepping out.

We move from one garbage bin to another, staying low and trying to be as quiet as possible. It’s difficult carrying Ben, but he doesn’t seem to want to let go.

And I don’t want to put him down.

We make it to the end of the alley just as a heavy flashlight beam breaks the darkness. I pull my cell phone out
and put it on vibrate. The last thing I need is for it to suddenly go off and attract attention. We lean against the wall and wait as the bark of voices from the walkie-talkies battles it out. The sound of officers hammering on doors echoes in the alley. I can feel my body reacting to every thump. All it would take is one officer looking around a corner. Maybe a team is moving up the alley as we stand here. I wish there were someone who could tell me what to do now. Tom is stumbling along behind me, numbed from days of sitting quietly with a five-year-old. I’m so exhausted I can’t see straight.

“Okay,” I say. Ben leans back to look around. His eyes are huge. I wonder what these moments will be like for him later in life. How will he remember this night and the days he spent in the record shop? Marlene’s car is across the well-lit street. We’re almost close enough to read the license plate.