Chapter 4 - The Interrogation of Susan Walsh
Two days later, the medical staff at St. Agnes finally permitted me to sit up in a wheelchair. My wrist was encased in a hard fiberglass cast, and a tight supportive wrap bound my cracked ribs, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow, terrifying void in my mind.
Agent Brody returned to my room at noon. He wasn't alone. Walking behind him was a woman in a sharp gray pantsuit with auburn hair tied in a sleek bun.
"Claire," Brody said, "this is Assistant United States Attorney Elena Vance. She is leading the federal prosecution against your parents."
Elena Vance gave me a warm, professional smile, sitting in the armchair beside my bed. "Claire, I want to thank you for your courage. The information you gave Agent Brody and Dana Mitchell enabled us to secure emergency search warrants for eleven commercial sites across Cuyahoga and Summit counties. As of six o'clock this morning, federal grand jury indictments have been handed down for Arthur and Susan Walsh."
"What are they charged with?" I asked quietly.
"Extortion, racketeering, wire fraud, illegal confinement, and multiple counts of obstruction of justice," Elena detailed clearly. "And based on evidence uncovered at a commercial warehouse in Elyria yesterday, your father is facing additional charges related to the severe physical exploitation and endangerment of missing minors."
I took a shaky breath. "Does my mother still deny it?"
Elena swapped a serious glance with Agent Brody. "Your mother held out for forty-eight hours. But an hour ago, when faced with the financial records found in her personal safe deposit box, she offered to make a full statement—on one condition."
"What condition?"
"She wants to speak to you," Elena said carefully. "She claims she has information regarding where Mia was planning to go, and information that could seal the case against your father completely. But she will only reveal it in an official interview with you present."
Every instinct in my body screamed at me to say no. The thought of looking into my mother's eyes—the eyes that had watched me get thrown down the basement stairs, the eyes that had handed me ice packs and told me to lie to my teachers—sent a shudder of icy terror down my spine.
"You don't have to do this, Claire," Agent Brody interjected firmly. "We have enough to send Arthur away for life. You owe Susan Walsh nothing."
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I looked down at my cast, then out the window at the gray Cleveland sky. For eighteen years, my mother’s silence had been the walls of my prison. If I wanted to be free, I couldn't keep running from the ghosts of Maple Street.
"Take me to her," I said, my voice firmer than it had ever been in my life. "I want to hear what she has to say."
