“Martin! His name is Martin!”
“He’s right!” Lisa injected. “That’s his name. Call him! Call him right now and we’ll straighten this all out! This kid’s just trying to help us!”
The gears in Sean’s brain spun rapidly as he glared down at the sight before him—a helpless, beaten kid pinned to the floor and looking up at him in anguish. Seconds went by. He thought of what had happened with Tariq back in Winston, but he also sensed that Jones’s story was being adlibbed the same way as the one Sean himself had fed to the two children down the hill.
“Nah,” he said. “I ain’t buying it!”
“Oh my God!” shouted Lisa, throwing her hands up in the air. “Why not?!”
“I came back to your house for a reason. That letter . . . The envelope I told you about, that your husband sent . . . It was in your ma
