Andrew Kaufman - The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted - A Psychological Thriller

“I was a single mom with a leukemic child and medical bills piling up. You bet your ass I did.”

I thought about the photo on her desk.

“Guess it didn’t matter anyway.” She looked down at her hands, started rubbing them together. “I lost him in eighty-three.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“But I would have died for that kid. I would have. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose my job and my chance to fight like hell for his life. That’s what mothers do.”

I said nothing.

She looked back up at me, tears in her eyes. “You don’t know how many times I prayed for God to take me instead. I was angry as hell that He didn’t.” She brought both hands up to wipe her cheeks, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t be.” I waited while she found a tissue in her purse, blew her nose. Then I said, “But why now? Why me?”

“It’s complicated…most of the people who work at Glenview don’t let themselves have feelings for the patients. They can’t, and pretty much, neither do I. But Mrs. Kingsley was different.”

“Different how?”

“I felt horrible for her. She lost her son, and I had one fighting for his life. I felt a connection. You know?”

I nodded.

“Then, what do I go and do? In order to keep mine alive, I kept a secret, one that that did her a horrible injustice.” Her eyes began welling with tears again. “I did her wrong. I was wrong.”

“You did what you had to. What any mother would do.”

She closed her eyes. “It’s been eating at me for years, this whole thing…the guilt. Then you come along, and you’re right, you are one of the good guys, you know? Sometimes you can just tell. I knew it when I overheard you talking to Faraday.” She shrugged. “I don’t know…maybe something changed in me. Maybe I’ve come to realize that some risks are worth taking, that this was my only chance to make things right.”

I gave her a sad smile.

She laughed a little. “Pretty stupid of me to think I could just give you the records and walk away. But I was scared, you know?”

“You did the right thing. I’ll make sure everything stays confidential between us. I promise.”

“But can you get to the bottom of this? Do you think you can find out what happened? I want you to—I really do.”

“I’m sure going to try,” I said. “I promise you that.”

Chapter Twenty

The skies were closing in as I drove away from Glenview, the rain picking up momentum once more, churning into a storm that was growing angrier by the minute.

Along with a story that was growing more tragic.

I struggled to readjust my perspective. Jean Kingsley, a murder victim. What she and her family endured; what Dennis must have endured.

Dennis. I needed to talk to him. I dialed his number.

“Did Mrs. Kingsley have a nephew?”

A brief pause. “No. She had a niece... Why?”

I tried to minimize the concern. “Just researching your family’s history. I thought I’d heard someone say she had a nephew, is all. Thanks for clearing it up.”

I hung up, dialed Sully’s number.

“You’re taking too long,” I said as soon he answered.

“Well hello to you, too, Mr. Manners.”

“I know you’ll forgive me. Got any answers about Samuels yet?”

He sighed. “Just now. It took some work. And the answer is, nothing.”

“Damn.”

“The D.L. number never existed, and the name Michael Samuels doesn’t match up with anything close to it, either.”

“Phony name and numbers.”

“Sure looks that way.”

“Okay. Thanks, Sully. I owe you one.”

“More than one.”

“I’ll take care of my tab later.”

“Have fun.”

“Doubt it.”

I hung up, thought for moment. Hiding his identity; I wasn’t surprised. Yet another shadow cast upon a case that was already looking awful shady.

Some things were starting to fall into place, but many others still weren’t. Jean Kingsley being murdered didn’t tell me a thing about my mother and Warren’s involvement; in fact, it only seemed to confuse things. No clear or logical connection that I could find.

And then there was the other missing link still pulling at my gut: Ronald Lucas. No association, no way to figure out why he killed the boy. Could he have somehow been in-cahoots with Samuels? If he was, I had nothing to prove it.

I stopped by the convenience store, grabbed a six-pack of soda, headed back to my motel room; it was starting to feel uncomfortably familiar. Not home, not even welcoming. Just recognizable.

And lonely.

I popped the top off my soda and wrote the word deformity twenty-seven times in my notebook.

I’m not sure how much time I spent stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how long I’d have to stay in Texas. How long until something here started making sense. Then the phone pulled me out of it. I grabbed it mid-ring.

“Mr. Bannister?”

“Who’s this?” I replied.

“My name’s Nissie,” she said, her voice shaky but determined. “I need to speak to you.”

“About what?”

She paused, and then, “In person.”

“Listen … Nissie. It’s late, and I’m tired—”

“You’ll want to see me,” she interrupted.

“Convince me,” I said, my tone quickly changing to match my annoyance. I reached for my notebook and wrote rummage rummage rummage rummage…

“I have information you need. About Nathan Kingsley.”

I stopped writing. “Okay. You’ve got my attention. How did you find me?”

“It’s a small town Mr. Bannister. Everyone knows you’ve been asking questions about the Kingsley case. I think I may have some of the answers you’ve been looking for.”

Someone in Corvine who actually wanted to talk to me. “Okay, when and where?”

Chapter Twenty-One

I arrived at Jimmy’s All Night Diner and spotted her immediately: she had to be the nervous wreck in the booth at the back. Fifty-something, tiny, brownish hair with streaks of gray running through it. Worry lines all over her face.

She shifted awkwardly and gave a cautious smile as I took my seat.

I waved down a waitress with a coffee pot, who filled my cup and flashed a Big Texas Smile. Nissie was busily folding and unfolding an empty sugar packet.

“So…” I said, wrapping my hands around my cup. “Does Nissie have a last name?”

A single nod. “It’s Lambert.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Lambert.”

“But you’ll probably do better with my maiden name. It’s Lucas.” She watched me with interest as if measuring my reaction, and then, “Ronnie was my brother.”

I tightened my feet around the base of the table, fought to keep my face from registering the shock I was feeling.

“He didn’t kill that boy.”

I gave her an appraising glance, then stared down at my cup, turning it slowly in its saucer. “Ms. Lambert, from what I’ve read and heard, there was a good amount of evidence against your brother, evidence that left little doubt that he—”

“Was guilty. Yes, I know how it appeared . But I’m here to tell you there’s more to this than what you’ve read and heard, Mr. Bannister. Lots more.”

“Okay,” I said, motioning for her to continue. “Care to enlighten me?”

She looked down and continued re-folding the empty sugar packet. “You’re aware that there were a few problems during the trial, aren’t you?”

I shook my head.

She gave a cutting grin. “Guess the papers buried that lead.”

“What kinds of problems?”

“Well, for one, their star witness? The mailman? Lou Taggert? Let’s just say he had some credibility issues.”