Free Presumption of Guilt by Terri Blackstock Page B

some loose ends here.”
    â€œAll right, I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone and gave Jimmy a look.
    â€œI thought you were gonna tell him,” he said, wiping his face.
    â€œNot over the phone. I want him to see you in person. He’s a nice guy, Jimmy. He cares about you.”
    â€œHe doesn’t care about me! None of them do! I hate social workers. They don’t care if they separate sisters and brothers, or if they take you out of one place to put you in a worse place. They don’t care about nothing.”
    Her heart ached for this jaded child. “Jimmy, you’ve obviously had some bad breaks. But Nick is going to change your opinion of social workers. I promise you.”
    â€œYeah, I’ve heard promises before, too,” he said. “Let’s face it, lady. I’m sunk. The sooner we get this whole thing over with, the better.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    W hile they waited for Nick, Beth made breakfast for the boy, who attacked the food as if he’d been starving to death. She sat with him as he ate, sipping on her coffee and studying him.
    â€œWhat did Bill tell you about me?” she asked. W He hesitated, then shrugged. “Nothing. Just told me to come in here and get the papers and tapes. And dump the files about us on your computer.”
    She frowned. “He didn’t say why?”
    â€œSaid you were gonna write a story about us. That we’d all go to jail if you did.”
    â€œI’m writing a story about him. He’s the only one going to jail—he and the other adults working with him. But not the kids, Jimmy. I’m not out to get the kids.” She wiped the wet ring from his glass off her table, then looked up at him again. “Did you find anything?”
    â€œNo, nothing.”
    â€œThat’s because I had most of it with me, and I hadn’t put anything on the computer yet. I imagine he was planning to kill me before I got home, and then he would have destroyed any evidence I had with me.” She thought about that for a moment. “Why do you think he didn’t come out here last night? If he knew where I was, and that you were still here, why didn’t he come?”
    â€œI don’t know. I kept thinking he would. Maybe he thought I got away, and that you called the police after he followed you. Maybe he was too scared to come.”
    â€œBill Brandon, scared? I don’t think so.”
    The boy looked up and stared at her for a moment. “You know him, don’t you?”
    She met his eyes, then looked away. The doorbell rang, and she got up, grateful for the chance to evade the question. “Maybe that’s Nick,” she said.
    â€œOr maybe it’s Bill.”
    She stopped halfway to the door, reached into her table drawer, and pulled out her pistol. It’s not as if Jimmy doesn’t know I have one, she thought, I almost shot him with it an hour ago.
    Peeking through the curtain, she saw Nick, and quickly put the gun away before opening the door. “Nick, you got here sooner than I thought.”
    â€œHad to. You had me so curious.” He stepped into the house and saw the little freckle-faced boy with a milk mustache, his red hair tousled and unkempt. “Who’s this?”
    Beth drew in a deep breath. “Nick, this is Jimmy. A very interesting kid, with a very interesting story. Why don’t you sit down? This could take a while.”
    W hen he’d heard Jimmy’s story, Nick seemed ready to burst with excitement. “He’s just what we need! A witness, from the inside.”
    â€œThey’re not gonna listen to me. I’m just a kid,” Jimmy said.
    â€œAnd none of the others will talk. They’re too scared.”
    â€œThey will listen to you,” Nick said. “Once we get your story into the paper, the police will be banging down the doors of that home.”
    â€œAnd the kids will be scattered all over the