Brad Parks - Eyes of the Innocent

There was one thing that made it easier for Primo, however. Under New Jersey law, what he and most people would consider a bribe was actually legal. It was called a campaign contribution.

Sure, there were caps on how much one could donate. But those were circumvented easily enough-with all the donors and all the candidates, it was nearly impossible for any law enforcement agency to check where a donation was really coming from. The state’s campaign finance laws, intended to be a moat guarding the castle of electoral credibility, were little more than a puddle.

The real difficulty, Primo quickly realized, came in discovering which politicians could be bought for a sizable campaign contribution, and which ones would thank you for your generosity and then lose your phone number as soon as you asked for a favor.

There was some expensive trial and error. And it involved some ass-kissing and attending events Primo didn’t particularly care to attend, simply to gain access to the key people. But ultimately Primo had discovered the effort was worthwhile. Because once you got the right person on your side, you could make government do virtually anything for you.

It was all about influence-or, rather, the perception of influence. From a statutory standpoint, an elected leader actually had very little authority over government. Only a few positions within a municipal or state government were political appointments, people who could be hired and fired at the whim of an elected leader. The majority were civil service positions. Firing them was an arduous process.

That might seem to make them difficult to influence. But the thing Primo discovered was that most civil servants didn’t truly understand how government worked. And they were paranoid about losing their jobs. So when an important person-or, again, someone they perceived as being important-told them to do something, they usually did it without question, no matter what the statutes might have to say on the subject.

Studies have shown it repeatedly: Human beings are programmed to accept leadership, totalitarian or otherwise. Even in America-land of the free, home of the brave, the country that created the notion of rugged individualism-most people will follow orders they believe are coming from above.

So for Primo, the whole game was about finding someone willing to use his influence to make government work the way Primo wanted it to. He took his time and wasted some donations to find that person.

But, finally, Primo came across a city councilman who seemed willing to do just about anything for cash.

So Akilah Harris was Windy Byers’s slam muffin. And Windy was Akilah’s baby daddy. And now Windy was missing, Akilah was on the run, and the kids were dead, none of which could possibly be coincidence.

But how, exactly, did it all relate? I gazed at the TV screen, bewildered. Windy Byers stared back at me with his ridiculous pencil mustache and his fat face-but precious few answers. My mind began toying with the possibilities.

Scenario No. 1: Akilah and Windy, the star-crossed lovers, decided to run off together but didn’t feel like dragging the kids along. Hence the fire. But that didn’t work. One, it made them unimaginable monsters. And while Akilah was a liar and Windy was a dimwit, they just didn’t seem like they had that much evil in them. Besides, why would Akilah keep returning to the house if that was the case? And why would she have slept at Sweet Thang’s place if she really just wanted to run off with her boyfriend?

No, Windy and Akilah didn’t seem to be in cahoots on this one. If anything, it was possible they were both being victimized-after all, there was blood in the foyer of Windy’s place, while Akilah’s house had been made to double as a barbecue pit. But by whom? Who would want to hurt both of them?

Of course. Scenario No. 2: Rhonda Byers, the councilman’s churchgoing wife, learned of her husband’s affair, then parted company with her sanity. She torched the love shack with the bastard children still inside, then sliced up her husband. Now she was reporting him missing in the hopes no one would ever suspect a member of the Ladies’ Fellowship Group could go on a homicide spree.

I held up Scenario No. 2 for a moment or two, turned it around a few times so I could look at all sides. And yes, it worked. I thought about her demeanor at that press conference, so self-assured, so preternaturally composed, so unruffled. Shouldn’t she have been a little more distraught? Isn’t that what everyone did for the six o’clock news?

I’m not saying I would put Scenario No. 2 in the newspaper yet-I still had a lot to prove before I reached that point. But the jealous wife was certainly a dangerous animal, capable of all kinds of nasty. Especially if the wife in question was packed in as tight a box as Rhonda Byers, with her proper suits and her toe-pinching shoes. It tended to make the explosion that much more spectacular when it all came unwrapped.

It would also explain why Akilah was making herself such an elusive figure and would lend some sense to her rant on the fire escape. After all, you’re not paranoid if people really are out to get you.

I pulled my attention away from the television and turned toward Bertie Harris and her pile of sodden Kleenex. Bertie didn’t necessarily have all the answers-it didn’t sound like she and her daughter were too close anymore-but she at least had some of them.

“Mrs. Harris, would you mind if I sat down?” I said.

She pointed toward an empty chair. “You can call me Bertie, you know.”

I sat. Sweet Thang smiled at me, like she was proud I was now a member of the Call Me Bertie Club. I took off my jacket and draped it around the chair, then sat down.

“I know this is painful to talk about, but it may help me figure out who killed your grandchildren,” I said. “Can you tell me about Akilah and that man you just saw on the screen, Windy Byers?”

“Byers!” she said. “That’s the fool’s name, Windy Byers. Of course! Lord. You think he had something to do with those poor children?”

“I don’t know what to think right now,” I said. “You have heard he’s missing, yes?”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t come home Sunday night. His wife called the police Monday morning. That’s why his face was on the TV just now. The cops are calling it a suspicious disappearance. A police source told me they found blood in the house. I think he may be in trouble.”

Bertie absorbed this news for a moment.

“And Akilah is in trouble, too?” she asked.

“I’m not real sure,” I said, not wanting to haul out my Rhonda Byers theory just yet. “But I’m hoping I can take what you know about Windy and Akilah and use it to learn a little more.”

“Well, I’m not sure how much I know. Akilah and I weren’t real chitchatty about that sort of thing,” she said, pantomiming “chitchatty” with her hands. “She knew I disapproved of her sneaking around with a married man. She say, ‘But Mama, we in love.’ And I tell her, ‘Akilah, you can’t be saying that about another woman’s husband. He ain’t yours to be in love with.’ But she didn’t listen.”

“How did they meet?” I asked.

“Oh, I was there when it happened,” Bertie said. “He came here campaigning one time-you know, those politicians always come around when they looking for your vote. He was walking around and he took a real interest in Akilah. She couldn’t have been no more than eighteen. Can you imagine that?”

Quite easily, I thought, as I sneaked a glance at Sweet Thang in her formfitting knit dress, her perfect, slender legs crossed beneath her. If there was a straight man who wasn’t attracted to younger women, I had yet to meet him.