The Stolen - Jason Pinter [112]
himself from that knowledge. It was Ray Benjamin who
was the button man. And Gray had killed him to seal off
the investigation. There was a chance those families who
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held the children would never be found, never be prosecuted. We got lucky with Daniel Linwood.
The Reeds were found at a hotel outside Chicago.
They'd driven halfway across the country after fleeing
Harrisburg. The manager became suspicious when all of
the family's credit cards were declined, and Elaine Reed
attempted to use an expired driver's license as identification.
They claimed, like Shelly Linwood, that they were
doing it to protect their son, Patrick. That Benjamin had
threatened them, as well. And now Patrick would likely
spend most of his childhood in foster care, and his parents
would have to deal with the legal ramifications of what
they'd done.
The children's lives would go on. But they would never
be the same.
It's always the innocent who are forced to suffer.
Like Shelly said, maybe in a few years I would understand. When I had a family of my own, children I would
do anything to protect, maybe that kind of sacrifice would
feel justified.
But not right now.
I looked forward to seeing the paper, so when I rolled
out of bed the first thing I did was go to the front door to
get my morning delivery.
My neighbor down the hall, the lovely Ms. Berry, all
eighty nightgowned years of her, must have been thrilled
to see me standing there topless in my boxers. I waved
hello. She retreated back inside. Maybe she wasn't so
thrilled.
I took the paper inside, laid it on the table and read.
When I was through, my emotions were mixed. I was
happy with the story, but not the outcome. All I could say
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is that Gray Talbot's operation would be shut down, and
the man would certainly spend years behind bars.
Caroline Twomey was returned to her family. It
remained to be seen what would happen to her parents. I
assumed they were accessories, like the Linwoods. And it
was only a matter of time before the Oliveira case was
reopened, as well.
So many lives shattered by greed and fear. And I still
wasn't quite sure who the villains were.
I took a hot shower, feeling like a year's worth of crud
had built up, caked my skin an inch thick. I let the water
run in and out of my mouth, felt the steam coat my face.
It felt good.
When I washed up, I packed the paper, got my stuff
together and headed to the newsroom. Though the story
was a difficult one for me to write, I knew Wallace and the
crew would be thrilled. It was a huge get, the kind of story
that would not just have people talking today, but would
ripple for months if not years. It made me glad that Wallace
would be proud. Though I secretly hoped Jack would be,
too. I still resented what he'd done to himself, resented that
he might have jeopardized his legacy, but his validation
meant more to me than he likely knew.
I took the train down to Rockefeller Plaza, remembering I'd have to return the rental later that day.
The plaza was already crowded by the time I walked
over. Tourists were perched on the benches, taking pictures
of the grandness of the area. People stood outside the
shops waiting for that first door to be cracked open.
I'd never been much of a sightseer when I was younger.
Wonders never really amazed me like they did most folk.
I chalked it up to my profession, where everything had to
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sonally involved in a story, it could come back to haunt
you in more ways than you could imagine. I thought about
my last few major stories, beginning with being sought for
a murder charge a few years ago, to hunting William Henry
Roberts after that. And now, with Gray Talbot behind bars
and the lives of several families never to be the same, I
wondered if I'd mistakenly forgotten all that. If I'd gotten
too close, whether by chance or by choice.
Once this was over I wanted to step back, reevaluate my
situation. I loved my job, and that