Free The Renegades by T. Jefferson Parker Page A

his checking account the day before he made the down payment on his home. He got a good deal on the place, I might add. I was actually the one who told him about it. We had foreclosed and we sold low, as lenders sometimes do.”
    Hood was impressed that Terry Laws had raised at least four hundred grand for poor children in less than a year and a half. It was about six times his annual salary as a deputy.
    “Isn’t it unusual for someone to withdraw a large amount of money from a trust, then deposit it in a personal account?”
    “He drew it as salary, according to the terms of the trust.”
    “He paid himself.”
    “As sole trustee he could do whatever he wanted. But to be honest—yes. It was unusual. I told him it was unusual. He was sitting right there in the same chair that you are. In uniform. And he told me that he was raising money much faster than he thought he would. Most of it was done online, he said, but the deputies were also setting up tables in front of supermarkets, giving out information and taking donations. The trust was just really taking off. But he needed a home—he was throwing away his rent money. Terry said the four-hundred-plus thousand dollars wouldn’t take much time to replenish. And he said that he and Mrs. Laws had already arranged a charitable remaindered trust that would deed their home to Build a Dream upon their deaths. And of course, by then it would be many times more valuable than four hundred thousand. He was good to his word about replenishing Build a Dream. The very next week…”
    She went to her computer now and tapped away at the keyboard. “Yes. He deposited $7,720 back into Build a Dream. And the week after that, another $7,200. And so on. Always a Monday, unless we were closed. The trust stood at one hundred and forty thousand dollars the day that Mr. Laws died. He made a deposit the day before.”
    Hood did the math and figured the trust should have been up to $180,000. He wondered if forty of it might have found its way into the Laws’s never-ending remodel.
    “Always cash?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you report the deposits?”
    “No, sir. The legal limit is ten thousand—we must report anything higher. Below that is perfectly legal.”
    She tried to muster a frank look for Hood, but then she dropped her gaze to the desktop for a long moment. “And to be honest, yes, I wondered at the amounts, their size and frequency, and the fact that they were never over ten thousand. I wondered if something…not right was going on. But I didn’t wonder long. Terry was the law. And I very much wanted to believe in the children’s trust, established by a cop, and supported by law enforcement throughout California. When I looked at Deputy Laws, it was easy to believe. His…Well, everything about him said honesty and goodness. I saw him in the paper with the elf cap on at Christmas. And I thought, well, if he overpays himself with funds he’s raised, okay. It’s temporary. He’s earned it. He deserves a nice home and it will go into the trust someday. He’s upholding the law and bringing in money for the poor. Now he’s dead.”
    She was still staring down at her desk. She dabbed her eyes again.
    Hood believed her rationalizations, especially when he factored in the thirty-something thousand per month that Build a Dream was bringing in to Carla Vise’s small credit union. It was easy for Carla to believe in Terry Laws. It was profitable, too.
    Four hundred grand in less than a year and a half, thought Hood. “When did Laws create Build a Dream?”
    She flipped through the file, still not looking at Hood. “He opened the account on August 13 of 2007, with two hundred dollars. His next contribution was on Monday, August 27, for seven thousand and thirty dollars.”
    “Then once a week thereafter?”
    “Yes. Every week.”
    “Look at me. You know you should have reported him.”
    “I broke no law.”
    “The world dies a little when good people do nothing.”
    She nodded