Mark waited a moment and then asked, “So you raised this boy until he was how old?”
“Seven, almost eight.”
“And then Driscoll took him to begin this training?”
“Yes,” she said, a catch in her voice, and where she had not shed tears when speaking of her family killed in her home country, her eyes glittered when she spoke of the boy.
“Do you know if Driscoll was working with someone else?”
She shook her head. “No. No one else. Just him.”
“Did you have any idea what this so-called training entailed?”
“No. I do not know. Dr. Driscoll come here at night when boy sleeping. I try to stop him. I . . . do not want to let him go. I will raise him, I say. But Driscoll push me. He say he will revoke my work visa. I will starve with no work. No family.” She hung her head. “He give the boy medicine so he will not make fuss and then he take him.” The look on her face was so bereft that despite what she’d done, Mark couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the old woman in front of him. No country. No family. Left to live with the terrible choices she’d made out of desperation. Left with not knowing what had become of the boy she’d obviously loved, though she’d been instructed not to.
“Do you know what happened to boy?” she asked, not meeting Mark’s eyes, her body tense and unmoving as though she was holding her breath as she waited for his answer.
“He’s alive. He had a very harsh upbringing as you have probably imagined. But he’s a survivor. He’s very strong.”
She nodded, a tear escaping her eye and coursing down her wrinkled cheek. “Yes. Strong. That’s why I call him Jak. Means strong in my language.” She paused for a moment, obviously gathering herself. “He very smart boy. Good boy.” The expression on her face was one of pride as she said it. “Driscoll move from here, he say he building nice house to raise Jak soon. He say no school, it interfere with training. But I teach the boy to read, and I teach him numbers in the English. I tell him not to talk like me but like the TV. He very smart and learn fast. I say the words are very important. I try to teach him what I can with books about tying knots and building things. What I think will help him. And I make him stay outside many hours every day so he climb trees and build forts, and grow even stronger. I try . . . I try to give him what I can.”
What she should have done was call the police and report Driscoll. But . . . Jesus, there were always so many shades of gray involved in the cases he worked, so many stories, so many situations that most people couldn’t even imagine surviving. “From what I know, what you did helped him.”
She nodded her head. “Good.” She paused for only a moment before asking, “He killed Driscoll then? My Jak?”
“He says he’s innocent of the crime, and there’s no evidence to say otherwise. Driscoll’s murder is unsolved right now.”
She looked vaguely surprised at his answer, as though she’d assumed Jak had killed him. Hell, after finding out what he had, he was surprised Jak hadn’t killed him. If that turned out to be true. And though there was no evidence against him, he had one hell of a motive. The man had not only watched on as Jak had suffered, but he’d deceived him about there being a war. Enemies. He’d planted the fear in him when he was just a child so it was all he’d ever known. It was really a wonder Jak wasn’t stark raving mad.
“He . . . remembers me?”
“He does, yes.”
The old woman nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes again. “Will you tell him Baka is sorry. So very, very sorry.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course I will.”
Once he’d said goodbye and left the small apartment of the woman Jak had once called Baka, Mark descended the steps, walking slowly to his car, one of the pieces of the puzzle of Jak’s life sliding into place.
He turned the ignition and sat for a moment staring up at the apartment building where Jak had been raised, unknowingly being prepared for a “training” program devised by a sick and/or evil mind. What the hell did that