Chapter Twenty
First, and Last

Stephen smiled genially at Mina. "Wonderful. My housekeeper is preparing a dinner, and she would have been very disappointed if you hadn't come."

"Oh. That's nice of her, but there was no need."

"Nonsense. You just rest here for a moment while I finish packing my briefcase. I'll be right back."

Stephen went back out into the office. Dominic was waiting, sitting on the edge of the desk. "Well?"

Stephen smiled slightly. "I don't see how I can pass up this splendid opportunity, since Mr. Turner was so obliging about drawing attention to himself. Tonight."

Dominic grinned. "What about Rent-a-Cop? Borden says he'll probably find a bar and hole up till his money runs out or they pitch him."

Stephen shrugged. "We'll see about him later. I want to get her home, and settled in."

The younger man cracked his knuckles. "Think you might need a little hand with that?" His tone was hopeful. "Maybe need someone to soften her up for you?"

"Not this time, Dominic. I'll show you why." He took a thin sheaf of paper out of his briefcase and handed it to him. "I got this yesterday, and I'm afraid I've been hording the knowledge, gloating. Third page, about halfway down."

Dominic flipped the pages. "Physical exam report?"

"Every new employee gets one when we hire them, so they'll qualify for the company insurance."

Dominic scanned the page. *A gynocological report? Yeah, he'd want to be sure she was clean before he screwed her. Let's see... bunch of technical gobbledygook. Wait a...* He looked up at Stephen, stunned. "Boss, does this say what I think it says? Hymen intact?" Stephen nodded. Dominic's voice rose in astonishment. "You mean she...?" Stephen gestured sharply, indicating the closed door, and Dominic lowered his voice to a near whisper. "You mean to tell me that she's still cherry?" Stephen smiled slowly, his eyes shining. "Son--of--a--bitch." He put the report back in the briefcase, then solemnly shook Stephen's hand. "I don't know how you do it, boss. Just do me a favor--nail her in The Tank so we can have it on tape."

The door opened and Mina came in, buttoning her coat. She hesitated, eyeing the two men. *What are they congratulating each other about?* "I just thought I'd come ahead."

"Of course. Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss O'Connell." Stephen closed his briefcase while Dominic got his coat, then helped him into it. Then Dominic zipped up his own jacket.

Mina watched this small scene. *Dominic has an 'I've got a secret' look. I don't trust him. I'm not sure I want to ride home alone with him. I wonder how much a taxi would cost back into town?*

They went down to the car and once again she was ushered into the plush back seat. As they pulled away she said, "I'll try driving my car home tomorrow. Mister Baxter, could you follow then, just in case it decides to die on me again?" "I'd be happy to, Miss O'Connell. Rest assured, if there is any trouble I'm willing to continue this arrangement for as long as is necessary."

"I appreciate the offer, but I have to cut loose and fly sometime." She couldn't understand the look that Dominic and Baxter exchanged in the rearview mirror.

The drive was farther than she had expected. *He must get up pretty early to make it into the office each morning. A rich person with energetic habits--how depressing.* The house was impressive. *God, that almost looks like a hotel. One person lives here? Well, one owner and at least two servants, but still... The sucker looks like it must have at least twenty rooms. A person could get lost in there. I'd better take careful not of where I go, or I might end up stumbling into something embarassing.*

The entry hall was two stories high, and the tiles on the floor weren't the ten dollars-a-square foot sort you could buy at Home Depot. She allowed Dominic to remove her coat instead of pulling away, no matter how much she wanted to. "I'll give you a tour of the place," Stephen said, "but I want to introduce you to Miss Fulham first. She's so looking forward to meeting you."

He ushered her through the house, toward the back. The kitchen was across the hall from what looked like a large, formal dining room. As they entered Mina thought, *They could run a medium size restaurant out of this place. That pantry probably holds enough food to supply me for three months.*

Something with a delicious, beefy smell was simmering in a big stock pot on the stove. A small, sturdy, gray-haired woman was standing at a central counter, vigorously grating cheese. She stopped when they entered, immediately wiping her hands and coming to greet them. She wore a plain gray dress that almost matched her hair--the perfect non-uniform uniform for an upscale housekeeper.

She beamed at Mina. *God, you'd think I was her long lost grandkid,* thought Mina as she took the offered hand. It was plump, but her grip was firm.

Stephen said, "Miss Fulham, this is the young lady I've been telling you about--Min Aiteag O'Connell, known as Mina."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mina. I can tell that you have a good appetite. I'm going to enjoy cooking for you," she said happily.

*I think I've just been refered to as overweight. Oh, well, why be snappish about the truth? She's going to be feeding me.* "Pleased to meet you, too, ma'am. Whatever you're making smells wonderful."

She waved a hand. "It's nothing fancy, but I am rather proud of my souflee. I think you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will."

"Come along, Miss O'Connell, and I'll show you the rest of the house." Stephen took her elbow, escorting her. Dining room, breakfast room, living room... The housekeeper's quarters were pointed out, but not toured. "The basement was for nothing but storage when I was a boy, but I finished it." He led her downstairs and she looked around. It looked like a rec room. There was an elaborate entertainment center on one wall, with a sofabed on the other. There was a door on the right hand wall, and two doors on the back.

Bright splashes of color on the wall over the sofa caught her attention, and she went to get a closer look. *Trust Baxter to be different. Most people would have a landscape or still life. What does Baxter have? Butterflies.*

"I see you've found out my hobby." Mina almost jumped. Baxter had come up behind her so quietly that she hadn't been aware he was moving at all.

He was right at her back, so close that she would have had to step forward to keep from brushing him when she turned, so she didn't turn. "They're lovely. You collected and mounted them all yourself?" "Yes." He moved around her and touched one of the arrangements--a spray of bright yellow and pale green against a black background. "I've been collecting since I was a child."

"Do you still have the first one you captured?"

Mina was busy looking at the display. She didn't see the blank expression come over Stephen's face, didn't notice that his gaze seemed to turn inward. "No," he said quietly. "The first one escaped."

1972

Minnie. He called her Minnie because she was so small, and her voice was squeaky. He had known that Maria, the housekeeper, would bring the little girl to spend the day again, now that she knew it would be allowed. He woulld come in contact again with the quiet, dark little girl--all he had to do was be patient. He was ready. He'd already prepared a place and thought out a plan.

The chance came in mid-July. As he ate his grapefruit his mother said, "Stephen, darling, Miss Fulham and Maria are giving the house a thorough shakedown today. You'll need to stay out from underfoot." She thought. "Maria said she was bringing her little girl, I think. Oh, well, it shouldn't be a problem. The few times she's been here I was scarcely aware."

"She hides." Stephen didn't look up from his plate, ignoring his mother's questioningly look.

"Yes, I think she does. I surprised her in the coat closet once. Perhaps I should tell Maria to be sure to keep her in the kitchen."

Now Stephen did look up at her. He made his voice persuasive. "She doesn't hurt anything, and it would be awful boring for her to be stuck in the kitchen all day."

His mother frowned. "Yes, I suppose so. I guess it's all right. If she damages anything, we can always take it out of Maria's salary."

His father peered over the top of his paper. "I'll be at the club today. Want to come, Stephen? You could fool around at the pool. There should be some kids your age there."

"No, thank you. I want to work on my collection." His father frowned. He didn't much like the idea of his son cooped up, handling dainty, fragile insects. While the elder Baxter wasn't by any stretch a 'macho' man, he worried about appearances, and a boy who'd rather play with butterflies than whoop it up with other boys...

*He's worrying again that I'm a sissy,* Stephen thought. "Melissa Anderson asked me to her birthday party next Tuesday," he offered. He put an interested note in his voice. "She sure does have pretty hair. You know, she's not so bad... for a girl."

Looking relieved, his father settled back behind his paper. Melissa Anderson was a teasing flirt who'd developed far beyond her years and was destined for either a convent school or a home for unwed mothers--perhaps both.

Stephen finished his breakfast quickly. He gathered his equipment and went to the kitchen. Miss Fulham and Maria were finishing the breakfast dishes and Minnie was sitting at the table, eating a piece of toast. Her tiny feet dangled several inches from the floor.

"Miss Fulham, I'm going to go out hunting, and I'll probably be gone all day. Would you pack me a big lunch, please?"

"Certainly, Stephen." She wiped her hands and began to prepare the lunch while Stephen sat at the table. Minnie regarded him with big eyes. She'd spent most of her short life in the bosom of her family and a close Latino community. Stephen Baxter, with his sun-streaked blonde hair and green eyes, was exotic and fascinating to her.

Stephen noticed a battered cardboard box containing an assortment of well used toys. "You brought your toys today." She nodded. "Maria, my mother said it's all right if your little girl wants to go out into the house, as long as she's careful."

Maria looked flustered. She'd obviously intended for Minnie to spend the day in the kitchen, and hadn't been expecting this open invitation. She nodded hesitantly. Miss Fulham set Stephen's knapsack on the table. "There you are, Master Stephen. Two sandwiches, carrot sticks, chips, cookies, milk, and Coke."

"Thanks, Miss Fulham." He stood, slotting his net into its back straps, and picked up the knapsack. "I probably won't be back till late, so don't worry about me."

He went out the back door, through the garden, and into the woods. As soon as he was in the trees he turned and began to circle the house. When he got to the front he found a comfortable place and waited. His father left, then his mother. Stephen didn't shift and fidget, like most boys his way would--he waited patiently.

After about a half hour he saw the curtains in one of the upper bedrooms twitch. They were opened, and the window was raised to admit a freshening breeze. Stephen got up and quickly went back the way he'd come. He knew Maria and Miss Fulham's habits--they'd spend at least fifteen minutes on that room before moving on to the next.

Minnie was still at the table when he got back to the kitchen, but now she had a sheet of newspaper spread out before her, and was industriously scribbling with a stubby, dark green crayon. She looked up as he came in. Stephen smiled at her. "Hello, Minnie."

She blinked. Minnie wasn't her name, but who was she to argue with this big Anglo boy. "Holla."

"Es una rana." When Stephen looked puzzled she hopped down off the chair, squatted, and jumped up and down, croaking.

"Oh, a frog."

"Si. Frog."

"Do you like butterflies, Minnie?" He pulled his field guide out of his knapsack and opened it, showing it to her.

The thin, paperback book was filled with bright illustrations, and the little girl looked awed. She touched one picture, murmuring, "La mariposa bonita."

He pointed. "That's a Monarch, probably the best known. It's pretty, isn't it?" He turned the pages. "There are lots of different kinds. Look at this one." He touched a brown insect with cream markings on its wings. "This is a hider." He tugged her brown ponytail, then the hem of her dingy cream colored dress. "Like you. Would you like to see some of these, Minnie? Real ones, not pictures?" She nodded vigorously. "Good." He picked up a limp rag doll and handed it to her. "Bring your dolly." He took her hand and led her out the back door and through the garden--to the Hobby House.

No one noticed that the little girl was gone until lunchtime. They didn't think much about it right away. After all, the girl had been given permission to explore the house, and she had a fondness for hiding. Maria walked up and down the main hallway, calling her, but there was no response. Then she made a quick search of all the downstairs closets and cabinets. Her expression beginning to be strained, she went back to the kitchen and told Miss Fulham.

"Perhaps she's teasing you?" Fulham suggested.

"No, not mi hija. Our neighborhood, it isn't good. I told her I must always know where she is--always."

"Well, perhaps she hid, then fell asleep. I'll help you look." The two women went over the house from top to bottom with increasing anxiety. Then they started searching around the outside of the house.

In the Hobby House Stephen watched Minnie as she circled around the center tank, stopping every now and then to rise on tiptoe for a better look. Minnie had spent a long time perusing his mounted collection, but she'd started to get bored, so he'd put down a dish of sugar water in the main terrerium and several of the hiders were fluttering on the rim of the saucer, sipping at the artificial nectar.

Stephen heard, very faintly, a voice calling. It sounded like Maria. She was calling a different name, but he knew she was looking for Minnie. He backed up to the door, keeping his eyes on Minnie, and locked the door. Minnie looked up from the tank and said, "Mamacita?"

"Are you hungry?" Stephen opened the knapsack. "Look, Minnie. Miss Fulham made a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Here. Sit down and I'll pour you some milk."

Minnie sat on the old blanket Stephen spread on the floor, accepting the sandwich and some of the potato chips. There was a particularly sharp cry outside, and she started to get up. Stephen said quickly, "I bet you'd rather have Coke instead of milk, wouldn't you?" Minnie wasn't allowed the sweet, fizzy drink often, and she quickly forgot about her mamacita calling her. By the time she'd finished the sandwich and chips and started on the cookies, the calling had stopped, and she had forgotten about it.

After she'd eaten, Stephen wet a cloth and cleaned her hands and face. He noticed her blinking sleepily and said, "You take a nap after lunch, don't you, Minnie? Stand up." He spread out the blanket, then opened a cabinet and dragged out his old sleeping bag. She watched as he unrolled it, then held it open. "Climb in, Minnie. We'll pretend you're camping."

Minnie didn't question--she was used to obeying her elders. She snuggled down in the sleeping bag and dozed off quickly. Stephen sat and watched her for a little while, then he laid down beside her, stretching out carefully so as not to disturb her. He pulled the hem of the bag up till only the top of her head was showing, and put an arm over her waist. "Little hider," he whispered.

Mrs. Baxter returned at three to find a flustered Fulham and a frantic Maria. Fulham sat Maria down in the kitchen with a stiff brandy, then explained the situation to her employer. "It's time we called the police, ma'am."

"Police? Oh, surely not! The child can't have gone far, after all." It didn't occur to Melanie Baxter that if this had been her child, she would have been demanding the police, the FBI, and bloodhounds.

"Ma'am, we have to. There are woods out there, too much for just us to search, and the highway isn't all that far off. Granted she's just a little thing, but the young ones have been known to go a far piece. She could have been snatched if she made it to the road, or she could have fallen and broken her leg. We have to notify the police."

"I suppose you're right. Oh, dear. I'd better phone my husband first."

Sensing possible negative publicity, Stephen's father made it back to the house before the first of the police arrived. Not that he was much use. He mostly stood in the background with a whiskey and insisted that this be kept out of the newspapers and off the nightly news.

The first pair of officers talked to Maria and Miss Fulham, then did their own search of the house. Then they called in the report--a little girl was missing, having disappeared sometime between aproximately 8:30 and noon. That meant that she'd been missing for as long as eight hours. The child was only four years old. This was serious.

They were just getting ready to start the search when Miss Fulham said, "Stephen! He's been out since this morning, too."

"Who's Stepen?" asked one of the officers.

"My son," said Mr. Baxter. "But I'm sure he's not in any trouble. He's thirteen, and he often spends all day wandering around the estate."

"Could the little girl be with him?"

"Oh, I hardly think so. He's like most boys his age, and doesn't have time for little children. Anyway," he continued, "He left early. I'm sure he was already out on his ramble before the little girl was last seen."

Maria agreed, and so did Miss Fulham. But Miss Fulham, as she nodded, was looking at the paperback book lying on the kitchen table--Stephen's field guide to butterflies. She remembered seeing it in his knapsack when she packed his lunch, and that meant that he had been back in the house. She thought of how he'd been this morning, taking the time to speak to the little girl. She turned her attention away from the book.

Stephen came into the kitchen, and all conversation stopped. He blinked at the adults as he shut the door behind himself. He regarded the policemen, then looked at Miss Fulham. "Have we been robbed?"

One of the policeman went to him. "Stephen, right? Stephen, Mrs. Mendoza's little girl has disappeared. Did you see her anytime today?"

"Yes. She was having breakfast here when I went out."

"No, son, did you see her after that? Maybe she followed you out into the woods and got lost?"

His voice was a little cool. "I told you, no. No one followed me. I saw her just before I left, and that's all." He looked at Miss Fulham. "I'm hungry. Could I have something to eat?"

As Fulham started to heat some soup one of the policemen whispered to the other, "Cold little guy, isn't he?"

Mrs. Baxter heard him, and snapped, "For God's sake, it's the housekeeper's child! It isn't as if it was his sister or a close friend. He hardly knew the child, how much is he supposed to feel?"

"Not knew!" Maria screamed. Everyone stared. For the past half hour the woman had been sitting silently, rocking--now this explosion of emotion. "Not knew! Not... not before. Ago?"

Miss Fulham put a calming hand on her arm. "Not past tense. No, Maria, not past tense. Stephen KNOWS her, present tense, because she's still alive." The other adults were nodding and murmuring agreement, but Miss Fulham was looking at Stephen. "I'm sure she's fine."

Stephen had been taking a soda from the refrigerator. He opened the can and took a deep swallow, watching Fulham over the rim of the can. When he lowered it he added his voice to the others. "Yes, I'm sure she's fine." The adults turned back to the issue at hand, and Stephen ate his soup, listening.

"Have you searched the outbuildings?"

"The garage, a gardening shed. There's one building out at the back of the garden, but it's locked."

"Well, get into it."

"It's padlocked. There's no way the kid could have gotten in there."

Stephen finished his meal, then pulled a glass jar out of his knapsack. "I need to go put these in The Tank."

His mother waved at him distractedly. "Don't stay out long, dear. Don't get in the officers' way." He nodded and went outside, and the adults continued their discussions. Miss Fulham stood in front of the back door, blocking the window, and watched Stephen make his way through the dimness to the Hobby House. He unfastened the padlock and went inside, and Miss Fulham went to put another pot of coffee on.

About twenty minutes later one of the officers who'd been searching came in. "Sarge, you know that building? The one that was padlocked? I went back by it, and the lock is off it now."

The sergeant suddenly looked alert. "Where's the kid?"

Mrs. Baxter said, "Stephen? He's in his Hobby House. He had some butterflies to take care of."

"He went back out?" He paused, thinking. "Well, since he's out there, this is a chance to search that building."

Mrs. Baxter gave him an astonished look. "But there was no way she could have gotten in there unless she was PUT in there. I thought we'd agreed..." her voice trailed off. "No! What are you suggesting?"

"I'm just suggesting that we check, to set everyone's mind at rest."

They went outside--the sergeant, a patrolman, and Maria. The Baxters were so confident that they would find nothing but their son that they didn't bother to accompany them. Miss Fulham stayed in the kitchen, watching from the open back door. They stopped at the Hobby House. The patrolman held the beam of a high intensity flashlight on the door as the sergeant tried the door. *It will be locked from the inside. The boy is young, but he isn't a fool. Poor, poor Stephen.*

She could see them knocking. Faintly she heard their voices, rising in intensity--first the officer's, demanding entry, then the mother's, pleading. Finally, like a scene from one of those police shows that were so popular, the sergeant stepped back and kicked the door in.

The flashlight beam cut through the darkness of the Hobby House, illuminating the two figures huddled on the far side. There was a moment of silence as the adults took in the scene. Stephen Baxter was lying in a sleeping bag beside the little girl, his arms wrapped around her. The little girl looked startled, her face pinching in distress. His voice angry, Stephen said, "She was sleeping! You woke her up!"

The sergeant pointed at them. "Stephen," he said slowly, "let go of her."

Stephen's arms tightened. "No. Go away." He pointed past the man to where a stunned Maria was standing. "She left her all alone, all day. She ignored her, acted like she wasn't there, acted like she was invisible. Well, I saw her, I caught her, and she's mine. I'm keeping her."

Maria cried out, bursting into tears. The sergeant stepped forward quickly and grabbed Minnie, trying to peel Stephen's hands away. Minnie started screaming. Stephen shouted, "Stop it! You're scaring her! You're hurting her. I never hurt her."

The sergeant bundled the still shrieking Minnie into her mother's arms, saying, "Get her to a hospital and have her checked. Stephen..."

He turned back, only to have the boy barrel into him, kicking and punching. "Mine! Mine! Give her back!"

The Baxters had heard the screams and shouts, and arrived just in time to see their son face down on the floor, being handcuffed. Mrs. Baxter, ignoring a sobbing Maria and a still screaming Minnie, shrieked at the policemen. "What are you doing? Let him go at once!"

"Lady," panted the sergeant, "he had the little girl in here. He was... Jesus, he was laying down with her."

"He found her! He was comforting her, for God's sake."

The sergeant lost patience. "Comforting, my ass!" He hit the light switch, illuminating the room, then waved around it. "Look at this! Food--boxes of crackers and cookies, soda, things a little kid would like. He's got a damn port-a-pottie there! It's just like he said, he intended to keep her."

"Stephen." The officer had hauled Stephen to his feet and had a firm grip on his arm. Melanie Baxter's son regarded her sullenly, green eyes glinting through the light hair that had tumbled down over his forehead. He looked so different. It was as if she hadn't seen him properly before. "Stephen, tell him the truth. You found the poor little thing, didn't you? You were just getting her calmed down before you brought her in."

She was stung by the contemptuous glare he gave her. "Tell them to give her back. I found her, I caught her, and she's mine." He scowled. "I don't know what everyone's so excited about. She's fine, and I'm going to take good care of her. I was even going to get the cot out of the basement so she didn't have to sleep on the floor. I was going to get her a little television set."

"He's coming to the station. You folks might want to get a lawyer."

The Next Day

"I want him released, and I want him released right now."

The district attorney stared at Stephen Baxter's father. "Mr. Baxter, your son abducted a four year old girl, with the obvious intention of imprisoning her."

"My son found a missing child, and was caring for her."

"He was laying next to her."

"Was the girl touched?" The DA was silent. "Was she touched?"

The DA rubbed his eyes. "There was no medical evidence that she'd been abused, no."

"Any bruises or cuts?"

"A few scratches on her legs, but the mother says they were already there."

"Well?"

"Mr. Baxter, the girl had been locked in that room all day. The boy had to have known. He knew that we were searching for her, he knew how distressed the girl's mother was. He just sat there, in cold blood, pretending..."

The attorney hired by Stephen's father said, "Sir, I would be very careful about what I said. We're speaking of a minor, a thirteen year old boy from a respected family, a good student with no history of any type of misbehavior. I don't see how you can make these rank accusations. The boy hasn't even been charged." The DA was silent. "He hasn't been charged, and yet you still haven't released him to his justifiably worried parents. Am I correct in assuming that the little girl herself hasn't accused Stephen of anything?"

"She's four years old. She was upset by all the noise and commotion when we found her. The doctor ended up giving her a mild sedative so he could perform the exam without having to strap her down. She's confused now as to what happened. She just says she went to see the butterflies."

"There you have it. Stephen has told me that he was in the Hobby House before he began his trek in the woods, and that he left the door open while he went to the other side of the garden, chasing a butterfly. He didn't look when he re-locked the door. The little girl must have gotten in then. He found her when he went out to secure his day's catch. It's as simple as that."

"And instead of bringing the child directly to her mother he laid down next to her, in the dark."

"There is no medical evidence..."

"Stop it," the DA said sharply. He sighed. "A case would be very hard to prove without the kid's statement and the mother's co-operation. Since the child wasn't injured, she doesn't want to put her daughter through the ordeal of a court trial. Believe me, I tried to convince her differently."

The attorney straightened his cuffs. "Then you have no cause to hold my client. I want him released..."

"I said it would be very hard. I didn't say it would be impossible. I could subpoena the mother, have a therapist work with the girl."

"You'd put her through that? What kind of heartless man are you?"

"Don't get all indignant with me, counselor. Maybe your client didn't physically harm the girl, but God knows what's going to crawl out of her psyche somewhere down the line." He looked at Mr. Baxter. "Baxter, your son has a problem."

Mr. Baxter bristled. "You don't know my son!"

"And apparently you don't know him, either. He needs help. I talked with the arresting officer, and Stephen... Stephen lost it. If he was any bigger my officer would have been in trouble. Even if he didn't molest the girl, and I'm ready to admit that he didn't, he needs help. So I'm offering you a deal."

Baxter's face was flushed brick red by now. "He isn't being charged, so there's no need to cut a deal."

"Oh, I beg to differ. Like I told you, I could try this case. I might not win it but by the time it was through, anyone who might have a child that would be endangered by your son would be warned." Baxter had been starting to rise. Now he sat back down, and the DA nodded.

The attorny touched Baxter's arm, calming him. "What are you suggesting?"

"I already told you--he needs help. Get it for him. Put him in therapy," Baxter started to say something, and the DA pointed at him. "Don't. Do not tell me what a sweet, normal, well adjusted little man he is. If he's as normal as you claim, then it's not going to hurt him. That's the choice. I'll even let you choose the doctor, as long as they're acredited, but I'll be checking to see that he isn't just billing you while junior is out chasing his butterflies. Do that, and this goes away."

The lawyer thought about it. "No record?"

The DA shrugged sourly. "He's thirteen. The records will be sealed if he stays out of trouble. When he's eighteen, they'll go away. I don't like it, but that's how it works."

Stephen's father spluttered. "It isn't good enough! You've insulted my family, accusing my son of such a depraved act. I should sue."

His lawyer sighed. "Take it."

"But..."

"Take it it, Baxter. Unless you want to risk Stephen spending the next five years behind bars. They'd have to release him when he was eighteen, but do you really want to have your son's academic record reading 'Correctional System'?" Finally Stephen's father nodded. The lawyer looked back at the DA. "Agreed."

The DA picked up the phone. "You can pick him up at the station. I want to hear from his doctor in three days. If I don't, I send the boys in blue after him, and you don't get his ass back out without a fucking act of God."

"Are you comfortable, Stephen?" Anita Babcock studied the slender, light haired boy sitting on the other side of the desk. He did not slump, and he did not sit rigidly. His hands rested calmly on his thighs, and he was at ease. *In fact, he's the calmest client I've had in years. From his history, I would have expected him to be tense and anxious.*

"Yes, Dr. Babcock. I'm quite comfortable, thank you."

"There's no need for formality, Stephen. We're going to be getting to know each other very well, so you can call me Anita."

"Thank you, but I'm not comfortable with calling adults by their first name, and while I know you expect to come to know me, I seriously doubt that you're going to open your personal life up to me."

Anita was speechless for a moment. The boy returned her gaze with cool calmness. "Stephen, you know why you're here?"

"There was a misunderstanding. For some reason the policemen think that I tried to hurt Maria's little girl. They're wrong."

"Would you like to tell me what really happened?"

Stephen's expression was bland. "Not really." Then he just sat, looking at her politely, waiting for the next question.

"You became very upset."

"They were scaring Minnie."

"Who?"

"Minnie, the hider."

*Hider?* "Stephen, the little girl's name is Luz."

He blinked slowly. "Is it? Oh. Well, now I know."

The doctor sat back slowly, thinking, *Oh, God. How am I going to tell his parents that they have a sociopath on their hands?*