Chapter 17 - The Other Children
The letter reopened everything.
Not June’s case.
Something older.
BCI traced similar reports involving children approached near schools across three counties.
Different adults.
Different cars.
Same method.
“Your mom sent me.”
“Your dad asked me to pick you up.”
“What’s the secret word?”
Most incidents had been dismissed as stranger-danger attempts.
No abductions.
No clear pattern.
Until June.
Wesley denied involvement.
Keene asked for a lawyer.
Brooks stopped talking.
Collins spread case files across my shop office because, by then, my office had somehow become unofficial headquarters for things I absolutely did not want headquartered there.
June sat in the break room with Emily doing math homework.
I pointed at a map.
“These schools are near evidence warehouses.”
Collins stared.
“What?”
“Look.”
Three approached children had parents working in courts.
Two had relatives in police departments.
One child’s mother worked records at the prosecutor’s office.
Not random kids.
Pressure points.
Children used to frighten adults connected to investigations.
Keene’s network had been intimidating witnesses for years.
Not always with violence.
Sometimes just proximity.
A man at the bus stop.
A car outside school.
A voice saying a parent’s name.
Enough to make people understand.
Collins looked sick.
“How many?”
“Maybe fourteen families.”
BCI confirmed eight within a week.
Then eleven.
The conspiracy grew wider.
More officers suspended.
More attorneys questioned.
A former judge retired suddenly.
June did not know details.
She knew bad people had watched other kids too.
Her response was immediate.
“We have to tell them about counting.”
Emily looked at me.
I smiled.
“Apparently we’re starting a class.”
We did not.
But June’s school counselor helped create a child-safety workshop focused on trusted adults, code words, public places, and asking for help without shame.
June insisted on one rule.
“If you break something because you’re scared, stay where people can see you.”
The counselor wrote it down more elegantly.
I preferred June’s version.
Months later, Keene pleaded guilty to avoid trial.
Brooks did not.
His case went to a jury.
Emily testified.
So did Collins.
So did Sarah.
And eventually, so did I.
When I walked into the courthouse, June held my hand.
“You scared?”
“Yes.”
“You’re big.”
“Doesn’t fix everything.”
She nodded like that answer made sense.
Before I entered the courtroom, she pulled me down and whispered:
“Count the doors.”
I laughed.
Then I did.
Three.
The jury convicted Brooks on every major count.
Outside, reporters shouted questions.
Emily cried.
Collins actually smiled.
June held up three fingers at me.
I knew what she meant.
Three doors.
Three ways out.
But that evening, when we returned to my shop, the purple paper star was gone from the window.
In its place was a new one.
Blue.
May you like
Written across the center:
THANK YOU FOR STAYING.
