Silent Protector. Barbara Phinney

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      “So why were you selected?” she asked, slipping off the exam table.

      He sighed. He studied her before answering. “I am—I used to be a U.S. Marshal, specializing in children’s safety.” He noticed her deepening frown, then added, “The U.S. Marshal Service is part of the Department of Justice and handles witness security. In most cases involving juveniles, we have female officers, but some boys respond better to men than women, so a few males were also trained. I was one of them.”

      That made sense. Charlie had always been with his father. Relating to a man came more naturally to him.

      “I left the U.S. Marshals when I accepted the call from God to be a pastor,” he went on. “Then Annette Vincenti, the woman who created ‘The Shepherd’s Smile,’ heard about me from George and Elsie Wilson and she hired me to administer her new program. It includes planting a church here in Moss Point. Until now, only a few people have been going to the Wilsons’ house for Bible study. It’s too far to travel to the nearest church on the mainland.”

      She’d heard of church planters, though the name conjured up silly pastoral images. Church planters started churches in communities that had none. They were as devoted as any missionary might be. They trained lay pastors, built churches and strengthened communities.

      This was too confusing. Okay, she could see Ian in the missionary part but as a U.S. Marshal? Protecting Charlie? And yet he wasn’t told about Charlie’s closest relative who visited every week?

      “But you retired from the U.S. Marshal Service, you said. Why are you back?”

      “I also signed a little-used recall clause, something created after 9/11, I’m told. If they needed me, they could reinstate me. I could have refused because of my work here, but when I read Charlie’s case file I knew I needed to help him.” He lifted his chin. “And I knew I could do both jobs at the same time.”

      Liz walked around the clinic, stopping at the glass cabinet that held various medical supplies. “Why Charlie? He’s just a little boy. He’s not some snitch from the mafia.”

      “He’s in danger.”

      “Of what?”

      “Of being killed by the same man who killed his father.”

      She gasped. The man who shot Jerry would come after Charlie?

      She pressed through her fear. “How? Why? I don’t understand. He’s just a kid.”

      “Charlie is a witness, Liz. He has seen his father’s killer. We need him to identify Jerry’s murderer.”

      “You need him?” She tightened her lips before speaking again. “What about his needs? Hasn’t he suffered enough without being dragged from everything he’s known to come down here in this heat, to live with strangers? He needs to feel safe—not scared out of his wits.”

      Ian had stood when she started talking but now sat down at the nurse’s desk. After a thought, he pulled out his gun and began to disassemble it. He was obviously a patient man, though to try guilt on her meant he didn’t know her very well. But he was patient enough to try reaching her with other tactics. “If Charlie testifies against his father’s killer, he can bring down that man. But if that man stays free, he could destroy many lives—more than you know. And destroy any chance Charlie has for a normal life.”

      “Charlie’s only ten years old! How can his testimony even be accepted in court?” She rubbed her forehead, trying to keep straight everything Ian was firing at her.

      “Children younger than Charlie have testified successfully. It depends on the child, on what they saw and how it’s presented in court. We’re hopeful that he can help us bring his father’s killer to justice.”

      Liz went cold, feeling the air conditioner much more. So that was it. They had stolen Charlie, hoping he’d give a statement they could use in court, without a smidgen of care for his emotional well-being.

      No, that wasn’t completely true. They needed to keep the boy safe physically first. It was reasonable to put Charlie into some kind of protective custody, and if he was emotionally secure, he’d be more likely to talk. They’d do their best to reassure him.

      “Why couldn’t the police in Maine just tell me that he was in protective custody?” she asked. “That he was safe? And why did they lie to you and say there was no one who would miss him?”

      Ian’s expression softened slightly as he took some cotton wipes from a box on the desk. “We don’t tell people, relatives, friends, anything. Most of the time, it’s assumed that the person in protective custody has been killed or else the person we’re trying to prosecute may find the witness.” He inhaled. “As for someone lying to me, that’s an issue I need to deal with. And believe me, I will deal with it.”

      She leaned back against the wall next to the glass cabinet, feeling the cement wall press against her damp shirt. Despite the chill running through her, perspiration broke out on her skin. A cold sweat.

      “It’s not his safety you’re worried about, is it?” she whispered, shaking her head. “He’s your prime witness. As long as you can carefully guide what he says, and how he’s going to say it in court, you’ll get your killer.” Her voice rose. “Without a smidgen of care for what’s best for him!”

      Sighing, he shook his head. “That’s not true. His safety means more to me than his testimony.”

      “Really? Look around you, Ian. His father has just been killed in front of him. He’s with strangers. He’s lonely and scared. And who’s here to look after him properly? Just you? You’re busy planting a church and creating some antipoverty program. You don’t have time to be a guardian or a bodyguard.”

      “That’s why he’s staying with the Wilsons. They’re both retired from the U.S. Marshal Service and can help.”

      “More strangers!”

      She turned her head away, feeling the hot sting of tears. Out the window across from where she stood, all she could see was thick forest, vines and the occasional glimpse of shimmering water through the green tangle. The beach must not be far through the trees.

      Ian rubbed his jaw and then rubbed the back of his neck. He looked as disturbed as she did. “I know this is how it seems to you, but we’re doing what’s best for the boy. Now, we both need to shower. The water isn’t safe to swim in this time of year.”

      She nodded. As part of her job ensuring waterfowl safety, she’d once read about certain beaches on the gulf side becoming unsafe to swim in during the month of July. Something about a bacteria.

      Oh, goodie, another reason to be concerned for Charlie. She stood. “Charlie shouldn’t be here.”

      Ian continued to wipe down the disassembled pieces of his weapon. “There’s an old African proverb that says it takes a community to raise a child.”

      She folded her arms. “A community, not the government. And not here.”

      He straightened, turned his head and studied her. And as much as she’d like to turn away, she met his cool stare with an equal one of her own.

      In that moment, she took stock of his appearance. He was really quite СКАЧАТЬ