Page 71 of Fear of Flames
“How did you get the storyline for The Wishing Well?”
His question took her by surprise, and then she recalled Fletch asking a similar question. “Um,” she cleared her throat. “I had an internship at the Indiana State Courthouse the summer of the Frank Loews trial. It was a high-profile case, especially for Indiana. I followed it closely and tried to dig into the evidence or lack thereof.” Peterson seemed interested, so she continued. “I thought he—Mr. Loews—killed Emily Madison. She was only eleven.” Michelle didn’t want to think about what she endured. She sat taller. “The jury was hung. Juror number seven was a holdout. No conviction. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to convict him. I decided to do it in fiction. I changed names, location, and I added evidence that wasn’t present in the trial. In The Wishing Well, my character Ernest Philps rots in prison. It was what I wanted for Frank Loews.”
“What evidence?”
Michelle wouldn’t have committed these details to memory if they hadn’t struck her as important at the time. “During pre-trial discovery, the prosecution claimed to have trace evidence from Emily’s bedroom connecting Loews. Emily was believed to have been kidnapped by someone who went through her window. The defense painted a picture of a pre-teen going out the window of her own volition. When it came time for the trial, that evidence was deemed contaminated and the judge threw it out. I kept that trace evidence in my book. It was the nail in the defendant’s coffin.”
Peterson’s nostrils flared as he inhaled. “And the title?”
Michelle had to swallow the lump in her throat from the memory of the crime-scene photos. “Emily Madison’s body was found at the bottom of a wishing well in Shakamak State Park, a state park in southern Indiana.” She took a deep breath. “Why do you ask?”
Peterson nodded. “Arrow tells me that you agreed to work with some of our people to show them what you know about research.”
“I will. If you still want me after the press conference, I’d like to help.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Why ask about The Wishing Well?”
Peterson stood and spoke directly to Fletch. “I still want to see the data from the evaluations, but they won’t change my mind. You were right.” He turned to Michelle who was also standing. “Welcome to the agency, Shelly. Your parents wanted you to have a normal life. I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. I also believe they’d be proud.” The gleam was back in his hauntingly light-green gaze. “There’s only one stanch, unbreakable rule. You can’t tell anyone outside the agency about the agency or anything you do.”
“I won’t.” She looked to Fletch and back to Peterson. “Is Fletch in trouble? He told me about the agency.”
“You don’t need to be concerned. As with most rules, there are exceptions. Talk to Arrow about why I asked about The Wishing Well. He worked the Loews case.” His focus was back on Fletch. “Get Shelly to the testing center tomorrow. Then come to my office. Leo’s back. We need to break down everything that’s happened and what exactly got Denny killed.”
“I’ll be there,” Fletch said.
Peterson turned toward the door and Fletch followed. Once Peterson was gone and the door was closed, Michelle asked, “What the hell? You worked the Frank Loews case? What does that mean? What did you do?”
He straightened his shoulders. “I contaminated the evidence and worked behind the scenes to get juror number seven seated.”
Michelle stared in disbelief. “You got Frank Loews off? The agency let that monster go free?” She slapped her thighs. “You said the agency are the good guys.”
“We are.”
Her thoughts were spiraling. “Did I just agree to be part of something that lets child molesters and murderers go free?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Because if I did, I’ve changed my mind. I want witness protection.”
Fletch took a deep breath. “Real life isn’t as simple as fiction, Chell.”
“Real life is what Emily Madison endured at the hands of Frank Loews.” Tears prickled her eyes. “I saw the postmortem photos and read the coroner’s report.” She straightened her neck. “Fiction is much simpler. My character Tiffany Moore didn’t have to suffer because she was a name I made up.”
He came closer and reached for her shoulders. “Frank Loews was later taken care of.”
“He committed suicide.”
“No, he didn’t. And the bastard suffered if that makes you feel better.”
Michelle pressed her lips together. “I don’t understand. You—the agency—made sure he wasn’t convicted to kill him?”
“Loews was a symptom of the disease. He wasn’t a lone pedophile working the network. Most of the players don’t make the sick decisions he did. What the press later dubbed the Crossroads Network was the cancer. If Loews had been convicted, the public would have been content with the one monster off the street. The agency had identified a network of monsters—abducting, transporting, raping, and selling. That network ran from as far north as Chicago and Detroit to as far south as Atlanta. The players ran the gamut from the woman behind the counter at the gas station to powerful names.”
Michelle bit her lip as her eyes opened wider. “I read about that.”
“Loews was a weak link. He led us to others. That network was shut down. Nearly one hundred people were identified, arrested, and prosecuted or are awaiting prosecution.”
“It was one of the largest FBI stings in recent years,” Michelle said.
“And it wouldn’t have happened if Loews had been convicted.”
She let out a long breath. “I was wrong.”
“No, you weren’t. You were right. That evidence would have most likely convinced even juror number seven. You couldn’t see the full picture. That’s what we do. We try to find all the angles. Once we have them, we dig deeper. Research is the backbone of the agency. Some of that is on the ground, listening, watching?—”
