I shrugged. “Luck?”
He chuckled. “I think you make your own luck, Ren.”
“I make my own way, if that’s what you mean.”
We made eye contact and smiled.
I’d found an unlikely friend in this cop. This cop trying to persecute me for a nineteen-year-old unsolved crime.
Pulling a wad of papers out, Martin skimmed the text before giving me some information, for a change. “Della was reported missing by her father. When the local police went to their farm to write up the report, they made a note of lack of sanitation and signs of other inhabitants in the barn. You said that’s where you slept with the others?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t the police see them when they went over?”
“There was a bunker.” I flicked through the rolodex of things from that time. “Mclary was a doomsdayer. Had a bunker full of food and supplies. He’d stuff us all down there if he got whiff of a visitor coming.” I laughed, not that it was a laughing matter. “It was a monthly occurrence, thanks to the pastor having a drink or two with Willem. He donated to the church, you see…keeping up his image.”
“And how many children were there with you?” Martin picked up a pen, holding it above a blank piece of paper.
“Not sure.” I frowned, doing my best to count when, back then, I didn’t know how numbers worked. “Ten. Fifteen, perhaps?”
“And all boys?”
“No. Not all boys.” My black look gave him all he needed to know. “The girls were Mclary’s favourite.”
Martin whitened, scribbling something down. “And you don’t know where they went after they were burned out on the farm?”
“A few were killed, I know that much. And a man in a black suit came and took others away. Another sale. Another transaction. Don’t know what happened after that.”
The cop, whose entire career was probably based on writing up DUIs and sorting out domestic disputes, put down his pen and rubbed his eyes. Those sort of images weren’t the kind you could rub away.
Slowly, he sifted through the file again and pulled out another document. “What I’m about to tell you may or may not have power over what your future holds, but after your arrest, we did our best to track down the Mclary’s. To tell them the good news that we’ve found their missing daughter.”
I kept my emotions hidden about that.
I would kill them all before they took Della away from me.
“They’re dead. Both of them.”
I jerked in my chair. “How long?”
Turned out…I didn’t need to kill anyone.
“Six years.”
“How?”
“Marion Mclary shot Willem point-blank with a shotgun, then turned it on herself.”
My mouth fell open. “What?”
“Murder and suicide.” Martin shrugged. “The case was open and shut. Their estate was placed into the hands of the bank that’d been threatening foreclosure for years, but it never sold.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the farm is untouched, and we might find evidence of what you’re saying.”
“And if you do?”
“Then there is no crime as far as I’m concerned.”
“Are you authorised to make that call?”
Martin stood. “This is my town, and you’re my citizen. I’ve known you since you were a teen, and John has been ringing my phone every ten minutes, demanding you be released. He vouches for you. We can’t hold you for longer than twenty-four hours without evidence, and hopefully whatever evidence we do find absolves any wrongdoing, and this will just be a minor inconvenience.”
I looked up at him, towering like a praying mantis. “So…now what?”
“Now, you and me are taking a little road trip. And hopefully, when we come back, all this mess will be sorted out, once and for all.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
DELLA
2031
INCIDENT NUMBER ONE.
The first of the five I warned you about.
Ren’s arrest for my supposed kidnapping.
I don’t need to explain the level of panic I faced as the police took him away. How I sprinted after the cruiser, hammering on the window until I couldn’t run fast enough. How I collapsed on the road with my knees bitten by gravel, and my tears tearing air from my lungs. How Cassie picked me up and dragged me into the house and how John got on the phone and made an absolute nuisance of himself demanding information on Ren.
It was the longest night of my life.
Three times, I tried to steal John’s Land Rover keys and drive to where they’d taken Ren. And three times, John had taken them from me with a stern look and sterner wisdom that attacking a police officer and making threats wasn’t the way to end this smoothly.
By the time dawn arrived, everyone was exhausted and still in yesterday’s clothes waiting for news—any news.
And then, the phone call came that Ren was being taken out of town for a while, and I well and truly lost it.
I grabbed the phone from John and threw curse words down the line to whomever was unlucky enough to listen. I threatened and pleaded and cried, only for the stoic voice of authority to say it was a matter that needed to be concluded, and this was the fastest way.
I was hung up on.
I should’ve breathed deep and centred myself.
I should’ve allowed John to talk sense into me and calm down enough to understand that they couldn’t really separate us.
Could they?
I didn’t know if they could. I didn’t know how the law worked, or what they could charge him with, or how long they’d keep him from me.
All I knew was I’d lived the worst time of my life when Ren left me, and I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t sit by and let them do this to us. I couldn’t let them take his freedom.
So, I bolted across the driveway to the disarray of our room and dumped out Ren’s backpack onto his bed.
The last thing to fall out was my manuscript, wrapped in plastic and bound with string, protected at all costs.
It was my only piece of evidence that Ren hadn’t taken me maliciously or held me against my will. My only way of proving this was all a massive misunderstanding.
I despised my parents for what they did to him. As far as I was concerned, they were dead and always would be. They were despicable human beings, and Ren was a freaking saint in comparison.
I expected a fight when I slung on some clean clothes, tied my hair with my ribbon, and flew back across the drive. I anticipated having to run to the police station with no car to make my journey swifter.
But I shouldn’t have doubted.
Cassie and John stood by the ancient Land Rover, keys jingling in anxious hands, a look of going to battle on their faces.
I didn’t burst into tears again, but I did hug them fiercely and climbed into the back seat where Cassie kept flicking glances at my manuscript but didn’t dare ask what it was.
And when we arrived at the police station, we were almost too late.
Ren had been given a clean black t-shirt and black coat that came to his thighs. With his scruffy jeans and weathered boots, he looked like a surly detective about to go study a corpse. He strode from the station with an officer beside him, face unreadable and hands balled.
“Della.”
His look of shock unravelled me, and tears spilled down my face. All I wanted to do was leap into his arms and offer up anything to trade his life for mine. But I did the only thing I could.
Ignoring him, I locked my attention on the grey-haired officer beside him and ran at full speed with my manuscript in outstretched hands as if it held all the answers.
“He didn’t kidnap me. He was a minor. He didn’t know any better. Please—” Shoving the heavy paper into the policeman’s arms, I demanded. “Read it. It has everything you need to know. The only way I can prove I was happy with Ren. Happier than I’d ever be with parents who bought and sold children for their own gain. Please, you have to believe me. Release him.”
Ren pulled me to the side. He wasn’t wearing handcuffs, and his fingers were soft on my cheek. “It’s okay, Della. I agreed to go with them. It’s all right.”
“What do you mean?”