Amber Morn by Brandilyn Collins Page A

— if family members could spot sociopathic tendencies early on, could such later violent acts be avoided?
    Dr. Johnson points out that the most charming of socio-paths often fool their families even after they explode in violence. “When outward behavior masks this personality defect, those closest to the subject simply cannot see what is there. Day to day these people see only what the subject wants them to see. It will take a high degree of evidence to change their thinking.” Beyond those factors, he added, “We have to recognize the close ties between parent and child. Whereas someone outside the family may be able to decipher facts more objectively, a father or mother — or even sibling — cannot so easily be objective. Familial love clouds many a rational mind.”
    A teary-eyed T.J. Wick-sell was escorted in handcuffs from the courtroom to begin his sentence of twenty-five years in prison. His family, shaken and despairing, drove off to their own lifelong sentence — believing in an innocence that never was.

THIRTY-ONE
     
    “We’ll show everybody that — if it’s the last thing we do…”
    Vince set the article on his desk.
    Roger’s voice filtered into his ears. The man was still on the phone in the other office. Vince strained to listen. Sounded like he was trying to get through to someone at Google.
    Maybe Vince could stall Wicksell a little longer.
    He picked up his water and downed what remained. As he set down the cup, his cell phone rang. He checked the ID.
Nancy
. He flipped it open.
    “Hi, honey. You got my message.”
    “Yes.” Her voice sounded tight. Vince’s heart panged. Nancy was a strong woman, but the last couple of years had taken their toll. First Tim’s death, then all that had occurred in Kanner Lake. “Vince, tell me you’re safe.”
    “I’m very safe. My job’s to talk them out of there.”
    No point in telling her about the sneak and snatch. Later.
    “I can hear it in your voice already — the load is all on you.” Nancy’s words cracked. “And I’m just heartbroken over Frank…”
    Vince listened to her ragged breathing. Sudden rage at Kent Wicksell shot through him. The man wanted to protect his own son — and didn’t care who he hurt in the process. “Me too.”
    “Where’d they take him?”
    “KMC.” Kootenai Medical Center in Coeur d’Alene. “Sarah Wray too.”
    “Let me know when you hear anything about them, okay?”
    “I will.”
    “I love you, Vince.”
    “Love you too.”
    He laid down his cell and grabbed the mouse. Clicked the comments box. Two new messages had been posted. One from an outsider — exactly what he feared. And one from Java Joint.
>> Vince, it’s Bailey. Kent told me to talk to you. Where are you? He’s not patient at all in waiting for your answer. He has the story of what happened the night of Marya’s murder — in T.J.’s own words. He wants me to type this story into a post so everyone can read what really happened. You need to say yes to this, or he says I will die. He doesn’t care — there are other typists in here, so I’m expendable. Please answer now.
     
    Air seeped from Vince’s lungs. Bailey Truitt — one of the kindest women he knew.
    He typed quickly.
>> I’m here, Kent. We’re still trying to get through to Google, but in the meantime we can continue to talk here. No need to make threats. I’d rather concentrate on helping you. But how do we do this? If you want Bailey to type a document, that’s going to take time. In the meantime you and I won’t be able to communicate. Is this what you want?
     
    He sent the comment and almost immediately received a response.
>> Yeah. You have enough to do. Go find that lowlife prosecutor and the judge who put my son in prison!
     
    Vince hoped they could do that — and soon.
>> I will agree to working on finding the judge and prosecutor while Bailey types, but I expect something from you in return. This is a two-way street. I do something for you, you do