It was so hard for Virgil to rely on anyone else, even the police. In the past, they’d had the protection of federal marshals and it hadn’t helped.
“No, I guess I wouldn’t be able to leave then, either,” he admitted.
“How are you feeling about the murder of your mother?”
This question surprised him. Other than what Ellen’s murder said about The Crew and what they might or might not be doing, he’d put it out of his mind. He’d never wished her dead, but her death was easier to take than her betrayal had been. “The same,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, she was a complete stranger to me.”
“Her murder hasn’t changed anything?”
“Nothing.” Maybe Martin had been a lazy, selfish, abusive ass**le who deserved what he got as much as anyone could. But Ellen’s compulsion to save herself at any cost, even at the cost of her own children? That wasn’t a mother to him. What made her actions even more reprehensible was that she’d waited so long to take responsibility for what she’d done. She’d lied and lied, and she’d kept lying, forcing him and Laurel to writhe in uncertainty for years. Ellen had waited so long to come clean that, when she finally told him, it made very little difference in his life.
Peyton twisted around to see his face. “Are you ever going to tell Laurel what you learned two years ago?”
He’d had the opportunity when he’d talked to his sister on the phone and hadn’t taken it. He wasn’t sure why. When Ellen was alive, he’d justified keeping her confession to himself because his silence gave Laurel the best possible chance of establishing a relationship with her, which was what he thought Laurel secretly wanted. But now? Their mother was dead. He could no longer use that excuse, and yet he was still reluctant to divulge the ugly truth.
Why? Was it due to some inexplicable urge to protect his mother by hiding her true nature from Laurel? Or was he trying to protect his sister from the disappointment he’d felt? He wasn’t convinced she needed to learn at this late date. Would it help her in any way?
He couldn’t see how. Not knowing was torture, but so was facing the harsh reality. Maybe it would be different if Ellen had been innocent. But she’d been guilty as hell. And there’d been nothing to redeem her, even in her confession. She only told him when she did because she’d been between boyfriends, was getting older and feeling lonely, and she’d hoped she could use her children to fill the emptiness in her life.
“Well?” Peyton prompted when he hesitated.
Virgil rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept last night. He’d tossed and turned, worrying about Laurel, Peyton and Brady, the new baby, Rex. “Eventually. Maybe. But not yet. She’s going through enough right now.”
“You should’ve turned Ellen in.”
“Why? She was my mother. Besides, I’d already paid the price for her crime. There wasn’t anything to be gained by sending her to prison.”
“Some people would argue with that.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Some? Like my deputy warden wife?”
“Former deputy warden. And, yes, I would like to have seen her charged.”
“My testimony might not have made a difference. You know that. She didn’t give me any damning details. She just told me she asked Gary to ‘take care’ of Martin, like he claims. That was all I could get out of her.”
“You believe she might’ve denied what she told you? Later on?”
“If the police came calling? Sure. Why wouldn’t she, after everything else she did?”
Peyton tucked her long hair behind her ears. “I guess I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Deciding whether or not to turn his mother in hadn’t been difficult for Virgil. It was deciding whether to tell Laurel that’d been tough. And it still was. He didn’t want to give his sister another emotional hurdle to clear. Maybe, with Ellen gone, it would be easier for both of them to leave the past in the past. As much as Virgil hated to admit it, they were both better off without her in the world. There was no manual on how to act when you had a selfish, lying murderer for a mother. Ellen was always so soft-spoken and nice. Pretty, too. Dealing with her was confusing as hell. Should they sympathize with the desperation that’d made her resort to murder? Chalk up her behavior to a few months of insanity and then too much fear to ever attempt to right her wrong? Assume she was sorry, that she’d changed even though she’d never taken responsibility for her actions?
Peyton stood. “So what are you going to do?”
“Maybe I’ll tell her later. When we have a chance to be together.” Maybe being the operative word…
“I’m talking about The Crew.”
Pursing his lips, he rocked back in his chair and said what had been going around and around in his head since he’d first learned of Ellen’s murder and realized what it meant. “I’m going to call Horse.”
His wife’s eyes latched onto his. “You can’t mean that.”
“I have to do something.”
“And this is what you’ve come up with? What on earth will you say to him?”
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Brady stood by the door, frowning at the tension in the room. He wasn’t used to seeing them at odds.
“Nothing, honey,” she responded, but the fact that she didn’t so much as glance back at him told Virgil she was completely involved in their conversation. He understood why. Calling Horse was a huge risk. But doing nothing could prove to be an even greater one.
Spotting his father, Brady scampered past Peyton. Virgil wouldn’t let Peyton lift him up, not while she was pregnant, so these days Brady relied primarily on Virgil to carry him when he wanted it. He snuggled with his mother only when she was sitting on the couch or lying down. “Can we throw the baseball, Daddy?” he asked as he climbed into Virgil’s lap where Peyton had sat just seconds before.
“In a minute, bud.” For now, Peyton still had him pinned beneath a disapproving stare.
“I asked you a question,” she reminded him.
Virgil drew a deep breath. “I’ll explain that he’d better not pick this fight.”
“Or…”
“I’ll finish it.”
He was transferred several times before he spoke to someone at California’s Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation who could help him, but it wasn’t long before Myles had the information he was looking for. The mug shots for the inmates who’d broken out of the California Men’s Colony had come through the fax machine and, sure enough, he recognized them. One was “Ron Howard.” Nickname Ink. Real name Eugene Rider. The kid who’d claimed to be Peter Ferguson was Lloyd Beachum, age nineteen. Lloyd had three priors for drug possession and grand larceny, but Eugene’s arrest record made Lloyd’s look like child’s play. Rape. Armed robbery. Arson. Several counts of murder.