"I've been calling her 'sweetheart.' I like Emma. It suits her."
"It was my grandmother's name."
She sat forward, intent, then suddenly jumped to her feet and began pacing the small kitchen, hyper now from the coffee, alert, and ready for answers. "How did you find Emma?"
"It was exactly eight days ago. I was out chopping logs when I heard this strange sound, you know, a sound I shouldn't have heard here. I tracked it down and found her unconscious in the woods. I spotted her only because she was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt. I brought her back here and took care of her.
She didn't speak until she yelled at you."
He saw the question in her eyes and slowly nodded. "Yes, she'd been beaten and sexually assaulted.
There wasn't any sodomy that I could tell, but then again, I'm not a doctor. She's much better now, even though last night she had a nightmare." He stopped and shook his head. "It took her a good four days to trust me. She's a great kid."
Tears were running out of her eyes and down her cheeks, dripping off her lips. She sniffled. He handed her a napkin and she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
"She's only six years old. She was kidnapped by a child molester and it was all my fault. If only-"
"Stop it, just stop it. I've known you for an hour and I know you didn't leave her unattended, wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her. Now, I don't want to hear any more of that crap." He sighed, knowing deep down that she'd probably never stop blaming herself for the rest of her life. "Believe me, I've never felt so helpless in my life. She's such a sweet little girl. She was terrified of me, a man, and I couldn't blame her at all. When she didn't speak, I became convinced she was mute."
He'd kept talking so she could get a hold on herself, which she finally did. He watched her shoulders square. "Maybe it was the trauma. Maybe she felt safer if she didn't say anything and didn't write down her name for me. Maybe she really couldn't speak until it became a matter of life and death. Would you have shot me?"
"In a heartbeat if you'd so much as moved a finger."
"I'm rather relieved that Emma remembered her voice. You've had a hard time of it. It must have been very difficult to go into all the towns and show her picture."
"No, everyone was very nice, all except for the local cops. Almost to the man, they treated me like a hysterical female, all patronizing and pats on the shoulder and leave it to them, the big macho guys. I nearly punched one guy out in Rutland. When I finally found your cabin, I thought a lot about what I was going to do. I know enough about how law enforcement works to realize that if I only captured the man who'd abducted her, he'd probably be out on bail at some point. Would he come after Emma again? Say the judge denied bail, they kept him in jail, then even convicted him. He'd probably get out sooner or later and then be out again to prey on other children or come after Emma again. I'd have to worry about him for the rest of my life. So would Emma, and that's worse. A child molester, a kidnapper. A monster like that doesn't deserve to live."
She met his eyes squarely. "If that monster had been you, I would have at least wounded you. That way, at least, you couldn't have been out on bail. You would have been in a hospital. There maybe someone would have screwed up your medicine and just maybe you would have croaked."
He drained the last of his coffee, an eyebrow arched. "You don't have much faith in our system."
"No, not a scintilla of faith. The system, even if it weren't screwed up, is so backed up that plea bargains are the only way to keep criminals moving. Why am I saying the obvious to you, a judge who lives this every day?
"You know that this guy, even if he were caught, might plea-bargain down to seven years then get out in three. It's not right, but of course the trial lawyers aren't about to let anybody change anything. They don't care about justice, just about getting their hands on as much money as they can. Then they put all the focus on the poor criminal and how screwed up his childhood was, as if that excuses his brutality. It's just not right. You're part of it. You know it's not right."
He said mildly, "No, it's not right. Look, no one wants the bad guys on the streets. Most of us work really hard to keep them in prison." He shrugged. "But sometimes the wrong things just happen."
"Spoken like the person you are."
He shrugged. "I guess none of us can escape what we are for very long."
"You said you came here to hide out."
He looked mildly embarrassed. "Things were out of control. I came here to get myself back together again and to give people time to forget, which they will, soon enough."
"You're a federal judge. You have to know lots of people. You must believe in the system. Why didn't you immediately take Emma to the police? The hospital?"
"I couldn't," he said simply. "I just couldn't. She was terrified. I couldn't bear the thought of strangers all over her." His eyes dropped to his running shoes. "I also worried that she could be taken again if she went home."
She just looked at him for a very long time, then, slowly, she nodded. "If I'd been in your shoes, I wouldn't have given her over to strangers either. I wouldn't have sent her home either, not until I knew she'd be protected. Thank you for keeping her safe. She's the most important person in the whole world.
I don't know if I could have gone on if she'd been killed."
He thought she would cry, but instead, she shook herself, and stood up. "And that's why I don't want to go back to Denver."
7
"IF I WERE in your shoes, I'd feel the same way." He sat forward, his elbows on the scarred tabletop. "I worried about not notifying the police, not taking her to a hospital, but, bottom line, I just couldn't give her over to the care of strangers. Did you see the sheriff in Dillinger?"
"No, I stopped seeing the local cops as of six towns ago. I just took Emma's photo around and asked and asked. I didn't know what else to do. I had this feeling that the kidnapper had taken her west, not up north toward Fort Collins and Cheyenne. No, I just knew it was here in the Rockies."
"Why?"
"The Denver police had this hot line for anyone who had seen anything. They were flooded with calls, none of them relevant, but there was this one, an old woman who claimed she'd seen a white van heading west. The cops thought she was senile and ignored it, but I went to see her. She lives up the block from me. She has really bad arthritis and so she spends a lot of time just sitting in her chair, looking out the window. If there was anything to see I knew she'd have seen it. I told the cops this, but they blew it off."
"How could she know the van was going west?"
"We live on a hill facing west and facing the 70. From her deck, she saw the van turn onto the freeway going west. She swears she saw a little girl in the van."
"No ransom note?"
She shook her head. "No, at least not since yesterday morning. That's the last time I checked in. That's what the FBI agents were counting on. They kept telling me over and over that I had to be patient, just sit there by the phone and be patient. I was to let them tell me what to do since they knew everything and I was stupid. I nearly smacked this one agent. I waited for two days and nothing. Still, the FBI agents just kept shaking their heads saying that I had to wait, wait, wait. I was going crazy. Finally I just headed out at dawn the morning of the third day. I call in every day and let them yell at me.
"I've visited more places than I can remember. Really, this one was the last stop. When I came into Dillinger, I couldn't believe it when everyone just nodded and said she was Ramsey's little girl. If I'd seen you then, without Emma, I would probably have cleaned out my Detonics on you."