Free The Devil's Garden by Richard Montanari Page B

routine. In their six meetings, Falynn had listened to everything he had said, but said nothing in response. Twice she had begun to cry. The last time they met, at Michael’s house, he had simply held her hand until it was time for her to go.
    “Can I get you anything else?” Michael asked.
    Falynn shook her head, and curled into a ball at the end of the old leather sofa. Michael thought about how the mayor of New York City had once sat in the same place, toasting Michael’s success, a place now occupied by a young girl who might never breach the shell of heartache and sadness that surrounded her. He had never seen anyone so shut down in his life.
    He glanced at the file in his lap.
    Since her father’s murder, Falynn had run away from her foster home three times. The last time she was picked up for shoplifting. According to the police report, Falynn walked into a Lowe’s and shoplifted a package of peel-and-stick decals, the kind you put on the walls in a kid’s room. The decals were yellow daisies. When she walked past the security pedestals she set off the alarm.
    According to the report, the security guards gave chase, but Falynn got away. The guards called the police, gave them a description. An hour later Falynn was found by the police, sitting beneath an I-495 overpass, a place known as a refuge for the homeless. According to the report, Falynn was polite and respectful to the officers, and was peacefully taken into custody.
    The report also stated that police found the stolen decals stuck on the concrete columns under the overpass.
    Michael watched her. He had to start talking. He had to give this another try. Because if Falynn did not testify, there was only a fifty-fifty chance that Ghegan would be convicted on the scientific evidence. Even ballistics could be impeached.
    “As you know, the trial starts tomorrow,” Michael began, trying to sound conversational. “I’ll be honest with you, the defense attorney in this case is very good at what hedoes. I’ve seen him work many times. His name is John Feretti and he is going to ask you tough questions. Personal questions. It would be great if we could go over some of this before tomorrow. If we could get your story out first, it will be a lot better.”
    Falynn said nothing.
    Michael felt he had one last lever. He sat silently for a while, then stood, crossed over to the window. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels, chose his words carefully.
    “When I was really small we lived over on Ditmars, in this small second floor apartment. You know Ditmars Boulevard?”
    Falynn nodded.
    “I had my own room, but it wasn’t much bigger than my bed. I had a small second-hand dresser in the corner, a closet next to the door. The bathroom was down at the end of the hall, by my parent’s bedroom. Every night, right around midnight, I always had to go to the bathroom, but I was scared to death of walking past my closet. See, the door never closed all the way, and my father never got around to fixing it. For the longest time I was sure that there was something in there, you know? Some kind of monster ready to spring out and get me.”
    Falynn remained silent, but Michael could tell she knew what he was getting at.
    “Then one day my father installed a light in that closet. I kept that light on for the longest time. Months and months. Then one day I realized that, if there ever was a monster in there – and I’m still not convinced there wasn’t – the monster was gone. Monsters can’t stand the light.”
    Michael turned to look at Falynn. His fear was that he had put her to sleep with his admittedly ham-handed analogy. She was listening, though. She was still curled up in a ball, but she was listening.
    “If you testify tomorrow, you’ll be shining a light on Patrick Ghegan, Falynn. He will be exposed, and everyone will know who and what he is. If you testify we’ll be able to send him away, and he won’t be able to scare anyone or hurt