A Gentle Thief

By Amanda Dickson

A Gentle Thief is the story of a young girl, Madeline Johnson, found dead on New Year's Day in Cedar City, Utah, with a single gun shot wound to her right temple, cradling a gun to her chest. Her neighbor found her and called the police to report a suicide. The local police assumed it was a suicide, and everyone else did, too, except for her father.

He was not unlike many family members of suicide victims in this regard, except that he fought for years, decades, to have her death certificate changed. This was his only mission in life. Enter Sophie Brownlie, a young attorney who feels a passion for the first case she is handed, for the tragic death of this young girl 20 years prior, and for her father still suffering so many years later. A Gentle Thief is the unraveling of the questions of whether or not Madeline died by her her own hand, or whether the boyfriend she had broken up with just days before her death was somehow involved, or perhaps someone else, someone the police failed to look at, might have played a role. The novel is set in Las Vegas and Cedar City and is filled with the language of Shakespeare, which Madeline loved and which speaks to the reader throughout, helping her uncover the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Dickson
• Release date: Oct 21, 2011

Amanda Dickson

Amanda Dickson is a mother of five, radio announcer, writer, speaker, and lover of sunrises living in Salt Lake City, Utah. She is also a reformed lawyer and reluctant baker. She is the author of five books, four non-fiction titles and one fiction. She is currently working on two new projects, one non-fiction and one fiction. Writing is her sanity. Her children are the reason she is alive.

Book preview

CHAPTER 2

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owl’s,

Nor shall death brag thou winder’s in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growl’s,

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare

Sonnet 18

Berwick, Pennsylvania 1972

Maddie never thought her father would leave her.

She knew he wanted to, but she never thought he would.

She had felt sorry for him from her earliest memory, the way his eyes would look when her mother was yelling at him, the way he wouldn’t fight back, the way he’d try to protect her from her mother’s anger. Maddie would sit nestled up next to her dad on the couch with her mother screaming, first close up pointing her finger at her father’s face, then from across the room, then back again. Her mother’s face would be flushed and her arms gesturing wildly, but Maddie felt safe. She could feel the side of her right leg touching her father’s down the length of it. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. It would pass.

He never told her it would pass, she just knew. She knew that no matter how long her mother screamed, no matter what she said, eventually it would stop. Her mother seemed to just get tired, physically spent from the effort of it, and fatigued by her husband not fighting back.

Are you just going to sit there and not say anything? her mother would challenge.

Her father wouldn’t move. Not his lips. Not a muscle.

You’re just going to sit there and humiliate me and say nothing. Well, I’m not going to stand for this. I don’t have to put up with this, you know. You’re not going to raise our daughter to turn out like you, a Godless, selfish, immoral idiot! That’s what you are, you know? You’re an absolute idiot. I have no idea why I married you. Wait. Wait. Yes I do. You were the only man around, if I can even call you a man!

Her mother would stare her father down, letting her words sink in, willing him to fight back. But he wouldn’t. He just looked at her. He maintained eye contact, at least Maddie thought he did, but he never spoke. She wasn’t even sure he was hearing the words her mother was saying.

Maddie was born in July of 1960, and now at age 12, she and her dad were war veterans. She had figured out when she was 5 or 6 that the reason she had so many daddy-daughter dates was because it wasn’t safe to be at home if her mother was there. It was better to come home from school, make sure the house was clean, dirty clothes in the laundry room, no socks on the floor, and then go out with Dad somewhere before her mother got home from her job at the insurance company. She and her dad would go to the library. The mall. A walk around the block if it was nice outside. The park down the street with the swings in all different sizes, including one big enough for two people. They went everywhere together, and they spent a long time when they got there. They would lie on the grass in the middle of the ball field down the street when it was empty in the late weekday afternoons and watch the sky lose its light. She’d put her hands behind her head just like he did, and they’d lie there, not talking together.

Maddie looked just like her father, except she didn’t get his height. She was petite with yellow hair and a small nose. Even the way the left side of her mouth went up higher than the right when she smiled was just like his. Her eyes were big and light blue. Her mom had blue eyes too, but not the same.

Maddie couldn’t see any of her mother in her. Her mother’s face was square and rough and stern all the time. She had a thick neck that was red a lot underneath her T-shirts. Her mother didn’t believe in spending money on clothes, for herself or anyone else. Most of Maddie’s friends couldn’t understand why her parents were together. Your mom and dad just don’t seem like a couple, they’d say.

Maddie would shrug.

Her mother never hit her father, at least not that she knew of, but Maddie learned at school that hitting is not the only form of abuse. She had never heard of a mother abusing a father. It was always the father who was the abuser in the videos in health class. But she knew that’s what this was. In 6th grade health, she learned that it’s even considered child abuse if a parent abuses another parent in front of a child.

Maddie remembered the first time she had the thought, I am a victim of child abuse.

She almost went up to her teacher at the end of class to tell her, but she wasn’t sure it was bad enough to matter, or whether the teacher would believe her, or whether it would make her mother angrier if she found out. She worried that her mother would make things rough for her at school, make scenes in the front office, demand to speak with her teachers in the middle of class. She’d rather people didn’t know any more about her home life than they already did.

Her mother never missed a parent-teacher conference, even when she had to get off work early. She wouldn’t miss an opportunity to criticize Maddie’s teachers for giving too much homework, or not enough. She thought their assignments, with so much coloring and drawing, were insulting of Maddie’s intelligence. Maddie’s mother didn’t like the language Maddie’s classmates were using. Even though she had never heard them swear herself, she knew they must be doing it. And then there were the fees. She hated paying for anything, especially school fees.

Isn’t that what my tax dollars are going for? Why do we have to pay extra for this field trip? she would batter.

"Well, you don’t, Mrs. Johnson. It isn’t a mandatory event, but if you want Maddie to go, it will be $20.00 per student, and we are accepting contributions for the students who are less fortunate," her teacher would explain patiently.

Oh, so now you think I’m made of money and can pay for the other kids, too? My husband doesn’t make any money, okay? I have to support this family all by myself, and it’s no easy task. I get up at the crack of dawn and work long hours, overtime all the time, just to keep food on the table. There will not be any $20.00 field trips for Miss Madeline, at least not until her father starts bringing in some real money!

Maddie’s father had the same blank stare on his face that Maddie had come to understand did not mean he didn’t love her.

In the winter of her 12th year, Maddie’s grandmother gave the family a trip to Disneyworld as a Christmas present. Her mother’s mother seemed vaguely aware of the emotional nature of her daughter, and wanted to help, as long as it didn’t require actually getting involved. So she bought them all plane tickets and Disneyworld passes and promised to pay for the hotel room. Everything but the food.

Well, how does she expect us to eat while we’re there? her mother had complained to her father.

Well, Cookie, we’d have to pay for food anyway, even if we weren’t at Disneyworld. Maddie’s mother’s real name was Cookie. That was not a nickname her father or anyone else had given her. Her father’s name was Ike, a name that seemed to fit him about as well as Cookie fit her mother.

You are so stupid, her mother chided. Do you know how much food costs at places like that? She grabbed a generic soda from the fridge, one of the kind that Maddie thought tasted funny and flat, and turned back to glare at him.

It’s just not that big a deal. Let’s just go and enjoy it and let Maddie enjoy it, her father implored, barely holding on to the hope that this would not turn into every other conversation that started out this way.

It’s always about Maddie. You coddle that girl so much. Do you see that? Do you even see it? I know you just love that she’s ‘your little girl.’ She looks so much like you; I can’t stand the sight of her sometimes.

Maddie’s father glanced to the hallway just as her mother spoke those words. He saw Maddie’s big eyes staring at the back of her mother’s head. She looked up at him and his eyes smiled, then went to their blank place. She knew this was a secret message. It’s okay, his eyes said. It’s okay.

They packed that April and drove south from their home in Berwick, Pennsylvania to Orlando. The drive was scary for Maddie, so much time alone with her parents where she and her father couldn’t escape. And driving was a particularly dangerous activity. There was too much possibility for error.

Get over, Ike! You better get over now or you’re going to miss the exit.

He would never question her. He’d just put on his blinker and move over. Sometimes it would be hard to do what she wanted immediately because there was a big truck in the way or something, but he wouldn’t point that out to her.

When they got to the Contemporary Hotel at Disneyworld, Maddie got goose bumps. She wandered away from her parents as soon as they walked through the sliding glass doors. She was in awe at the grandeur of it, the newness, the smell of flowers and air conditioning and cookies everywhere. It was the most beautiful place she had ever been in her life. The hotel was huge and modern and bright, and it was connected to the park by a monorail that reminded Maddie of The Jetson’s on TV.

Her dad seemed to like it as much as she did. Look at this, Maddie, he pointed and walked with her over to the wall of water by the escalator. Isn’t that cool?

Yeah, Maddie agreed, her eyes wide and no longer itchy from the fatigue of the drive. She felt cool standing next to the water, so glad to be out of the station wagon.

We can still go over to the park tonight, if you want. Maybe your mom will feel like lying down for a little bit, and we can sneak over and scope out where we want to go. I was thinking we should do the Haunted House and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea first because those lines might be really long . . .

Ike! I need your help over here. It was Maddie’s mother calling from across the lobby.

Her father held up his finger to Maddie to say I’ll be back in one minute and hurried over to his wife.

They did go to the park that night, and the next day, and the day after that. It was on the evening of the third night that things went terribly wrong. They were eating dinner in a restaurant that looked like something out of a Star Trek episode when she noticed her parents were looking at each other without talking. Her mother had put down her fork, and was just staring at her father with her mouth open.

What? Maddie asked. She usually stopped herself before jumping into these conversations, but she had been looking around at other families in the restaurant and hadn’t realized that a fight had started.

"What? You want to know what? Why don’t you tell your daughter what, Ike?" Her mother fired off her words like a nail gun.

Her father turned to her, It’s nothing, Honey. There’s nothing wrong. Now, what should we do on our last day tomorrow?

No, it’s not nothing! her mom interrupted. If you won’t admit to it, then I’ll tell her. Your father was just ogling a young woman over there who is dressed like a tramp. I can’t imagine what she thinks she’s doing walking around in public with her breasts falling out of her top like that. There are children here! And then you! You humiliate me by staring at her chest like it’s the fountain of youth.

Cookie, I was not staring at her chest. I didn’t even notice the woman until you pointed her out.

Don’t give me that. That is such a lie. That’s all you ever do is lie.

Her mother’s eyes were starting to get moist. That meant it was worse than usual. Maddie had the urge to comfort her mother, but she was afraid. She was working on getting up the courage to reach out and touch her mom’s leg with her hand, when her mother stood up from the table.

I can’t take this anymore. I just can’t take it anymore. I hate you, Ike Johnson. I hate you and I want a divorce! Her mother’s face was almost unrecognizable. She grabbed her purse, which caught momentarily on the back of the chair, and stormed out of the restaurant.

Maddie’s lip started to quiver. Her father stared blankly across the table. Without speaking, he reached out for his daughter’s hand. She hesitated, then brought it up and put it in his. They sat together, holding hands, their chicken fettuccini getting colder, tears slipping out onto both of their cheeks. Maddie had seen her father cry before, but not often. He usually just stared with his eyes looking dry and far away. But that day in the restaurant at Disneyworld, he cried. Maddie wondered if he was doing it just to make her feel better.

Can I get you two anything? The waitress had given them a little space and not come over for a few minutes. She finally came shyly to their table, kindness in her smile, and filled up her father’s water glass. Would you like me to put those in a to-go container?

No, thank you, her father said, without looking away from Maddie. Just the check, please.

Sure, the young girl said, and she pulled it out of her pocket and put it on the table near her dad. Take your time.

And they did. They sat and sipped water and let their skin stop crawling. Finally Maddie asked, Should we go to the park for awhile before we go back to the room?

Yeah. I think that’s good, her father said softly, but resolutely.

We could just go walk around if you want to.

That’s a great idea, he said as he put two 20 dollar bills down on the table. Let’s go, Honey. Let’s just go and have a good time and let your mother calm down for awhile.

Maddie loved how her father had a tone of everything is going to be alright even when things were not alright. He looked confident, if not a little shaken, as they left the restaurant. A few of the patrons stared at the couple, a handsome young father who seemed almost too young to have a child of his own, and his daughter who bore him a striking resemblance and was not yet a teenager. He took Maddie by the elbow and led her without making eye contact with anybody.

Maddie and Ike Johnson rode the Monorail back to the park just in time to see the parade go by on Main Street. There were dancers in beautiful costumes and floats and a young girl with red circles painted on her cheeks singing on top of a dome. There were clowns and dancers with huge bird heads and lots of little boys on their father’s shoulders.

Maddie didn’t smile, but she did stop shaking and took in the air as the sun went down.

When they got back to the hotel, her mother was gone. Not just gone from the room. Gone, gone. Her clothes were gone from the closet. The suitcase was gone from next to the TV. The car keys were gone from the bureau. Maddie’s father started to pace around the room.

She couldn’t have gone, he said unconvincingly. I’m sure she’s just blowing off steam.

The red light was flashing on their phone. Maddie’s dad picked up the phone and pushed the 0 button. Yes. This is Ike Johnson in room 1305. My message light is flashing. . . Thank you. Her father was silent as he listened to the message.

His eyes opened just slightly wider, but other than that, he betrayed nothing. He put the receiver back slowly in the cradle.

Honey. Your mom has left to go back home. Everything is going to be just fine. It’s probably all for the better so we won’t have any more scenes like we did tonight. But right now, I need to go take care of some things to get us some transportation. . .

You mean – she left without us? Maddie asked, the desperation building.

Yes. She did. Her dad seemed almost as shocked as she felt.

How are we going to get home, Dad? We don’t have any money! Maddie’s voice was starting to rise.

One of the many things Maddie’s mother insisted on controlling was the family money. She did not allow her husband to have or use the credit cards and gave him very little cash. And she never offered it. She made him ask, and would usually respond to his halting requests by demanding to know where the $20 was that she had given him yesterday.

I don’t know how we’re getting home yet, Honey, her father said, not quite strong enough to get up and leave the room. But I will think of something.

What? What could you think of? She has to come back! Maddie was starting to cry.

Her father crossed the small space between the two queen sized beds in the hotel room to sit down next to his daughter. He put both arms around her from the side and held her. They sat there, rocking just slightly in silence, in the strange fake light of the modern-looking lamps. They sat and wondered how they would get home, and what would be there when they got there.

It took them two days to make it back to Pennsylvania, and would have taken much longer had it not been for the grandfatherly kindness of an old long-haul trucker they met at Denny’s. Ike Johnson came from a hard-working, salt of the earth family, the kind of family that went deer hunting as a family every fall, and always ate what they killed, plus shared some with the neighbors. The kind of family that would name their older son Frank and their younger one Ike. Even if Ike had never quite taken to hunting, he had learned a lot from his father, and he knew a kind face when he saw one. He approached the man with the craggy nose at the breakfast counter at Denny’s, and a half-hour later Maddie was having her first ride in an 18-wheeler. The trucker detoured two hours from his route to take them right to their door in Berwick.

Maddie’s father’s gratitude to this man would last for decades.

Two weeks later, Maddie and her dad were sitting in the car outside of her school one afternoon. He had picked her up as usual, but he didn’t start the car when she got in. He just sat there.

What’s going on? Maddie asked.

Your mother and I are getting a divorce, he said quietly without looking up. His eyes welled up for the second time that month.

It’s okay, Dad, Maddie was taking it in. She had pictured him saying those words to her for years, but it was still stunning to hear them. It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. All my friends’ parents say they are amazed you and mom didn’t get divorced years ago.

Maddie. I’m moving into an apartment tonight.

Where? Will I still go to the same school?

He didn’t say anything. Maddie started to feel hot.

You’re taking me with you, Dad. You’re not leaving me with her, are you?

I have to, Honey. I’m so sorry. He began to sob. She threatened to make it so I could never see you again if I didn’t give her full custody. I can’t risk that.

No Dad. No!!!!!!!! You can’t leave me with her. You can’t leave me. Maddie’s voice was terrified in the way children are when they still have hope. Please. Please, Daddy. Please don’t leave me.

Ike sat mute, then reached out to hug his daughter in the awkward way you hug people in cars, but Maddie wouldn’t let him. She pulled open the door with a bang and ran, leaving her backpack on the floor of the passenger’s side. She ran across the playground and out the back entrance of the school. She ran until she got to her secret hiding place under the overpass by the ball park.

Then she collapsed on the concrete. Her legs just gave out underneath her. Her tail bone hit the ground hard, but it didn’t really hurt. She rolled back for a moment, then sat forward and hugged her knees, crying until her throat felt like it was closing. A couple of kids came by on bikes but she scared them into turning around and going back where they came from. She sat and sat on the inclined cement, watching the sky grow dark, knowing she was worrying her father, not caring. She might never go home. It wasn’t her home any more.

After the divorce, Maddie’s father would pick her up every Friday after school and bring her back to her mother’s every Saturday night just before bed time. He rented a little furnished apartment on the second floor of a double house on 2nd Street. He stocked his kitchen with Fruit Loops and grape jelly and Goldfish crackers, and waited for the weekends. He kept Maddie’s new bedroom in his apartment spotless, even got permission to paint its walls baby blue (her favorite color), using a paint-by-numbers brush to detail around the door frame. He kept little white T-shirts and extra sweat pants in her size in the dresser drawers. He left glasses of water on her night stand before he tucked her in and took them to the kitchen to wash after she left.

Maddie’s father started working at the camera shop on Market Street after he moved out. The name of the store in raised wood above the small door frame was The Camera Shoppe. The owner of the shop liked how precise and conscientious Ike was. None of the high school kids he had been able to hire in the past for the wage he paid had ever cared so much about the job or the customers. Ike took great care with people’s pictures, bringing out the best in every shot, and talking with comparison shoppers about the benefits of Cannon this or Nikon that. He was unassuming and punctual and happy to stay late if the owner needed him, unless it was Friday or he had another date with his daughter. On those occasions he was utterly inflexible.

He paid child support to Cookie, $500 a month, going several thousand dollars into debt initially with his newly obtained credit cards until he figured out how to budget. Even with his limited salary, he saved money to take Maddie to restaurants once in awhile, and to pay her school fees so she didn’t have to ask her mother. Maddie took for granted that he would answer the phone whenever she called. Especially on Sundays. Her mother would never let her see her father on Sundays, telling her it dishonored the day to spend it with someone unworthy, but she let them talk on the phone. Sometimes they’d just sit and watch the same TV show with the phone to their ears.

Wake up now. Maddie’s father shook her. She had fallen asleep on a Saturday evening after dinner while he was doing the dishes. It’s time for me to take you home.

She didn’t stir.

Maddie. Wake up now. He nudged her a little harder. I don’t want you to be late.

She moaned but didn’t open her eyes. He sat on the couch next to her, giving her time to adjust to the thought of it. After ten minutes, he said again. Honey. I have to take you home now. Nothing. C’mon, Honey. I really do have to take you home. Wake up now.

She didn’t move.

He started to get a little frustrated.

I don’t want to carry you to the car, Maddie, he said half-jokingly. C’mon. He pushed her back and forth so her body was rocking a little on the couch.

She grabbed the afghan and pulled it forcefully over her head.

I’m not kidding, Maddie. You have to go home now. C’mon. I’m going to go get your bag and meet you in the car. He stood up, went to her room and straightened the mess that he was amazed she could make in 24 hours, put her socks and notebooks back into her overnight bag, made her bed and turned out the light. He walked back through the little living room. She still hadn’t moved.

Honey, Maddie’s father said in his loudest voice yet. I’m not kidding around now. Get up! He didn’t seem comfortable raising his voice to her. When she still didn’t move, he went over to the couch and put his mouth very close to her ear and said in the sternest voice she could remember his using. Maddie. I know you can hear me and I know you’re not sleeping. I know how hard this is. I wish more than anything that you could stay right here, with me, tonight and forever, but you can’t – so I need you to get up and come with me now. He went to the door and stood there. When she didn’t move, he went into the garage and opened the door. He started the little Toyota he had taken out a car loan for three months before, and waited.

He waited for almost an hour.

When she finally walked sleepily into the garage with her eyes barely open, his stare was fixed on the back door. He didn’t acknowledge her when she got in the car. He just put the car in reverse and drove off. She didn’t say a word on the short drive home.

Excuse me. Have we forgotten to thank the Lord, her mother asked accusingly after Maddie had already put several bites in her mouth. Maddie put down her fork.

Our dear Lord, we are so grateful for the blessings we are about to receive, her mother said, her voice softer and almost breathy. Thank you for this food, Lord, for the ability to provide it, for the strength it gives our bodies. Thank you for staying by our side, Lord, during this difficult time, for not abandoning us like Maddie’s father has done, for helping us to be strong in the face of such cruelty. Stay with us, Lord. Help us make it through this night. Amen.

Her mother picked up her fork and put a bite in her mouth. Maddie just sat. I suppose your father makes better than this, her mother said, fishing for a compliment.

No. Yes. I mean, this is good, Maddie stumbled and took another bite.

I’ve never been one for being in the kitchen, but I want to do better.

You don’t need to cook, Mom.

I guess it’s alright with you if we starve then.

I’m just saying, I don’t want you to cook if you don’t want to. I don’t mind frozen dinners. I sort of like them.

Don’t be like that, her mother corrected.

Like what? Maddie asked, worried about how much they were talking.

Like him. So accommodating. You don’t like TV dinners. No one does. You should say it. Say what you think. I want you to be strong.

But I do like TV dinners, Maddie protested, trying to be strong, but also telling the truth.

Oh, yeah, and homework and cleaning the bathrooms, too.

Maddie shut up.

How was school today? her father asked after she plopped down on the front seat next to him.

Boring, is all she said.

What are you reading? he looked down at the thick book on her lap.

Shakespeare, she answered almost apologizing.

Shakespeare? Wow. That’s impressive. Which one?

Hamlet?

Really? he replied, pulling out into traffic. What’s it about?

Well, there’s this guy Hamlet, and he’s a prince, and his father just died.

Oh, yeah? What did he die from? her father interrupted.

He was murdered, and he wants Hamlet to avenge his death.

Wow, her father encouraged.

I haven’t read it all the way through yet, she explained.

Oh, well, it sounds good.

It is, she said, a little surprised that she genuinely believed that. It’s kinda hard to read with all the ‘To be or not to be’ stuff, but it’s interesting.

Yeah, I bet. You’re so smart, Maddie. I could never read that. Her dad was always putting himself down.

Sure you could. You’d just have to try.

Huh, her dad seemed thoughtful as they made their way back to his apartment.

Six months after her parents’ divorce, Maddie spent most of her time in her room in both her parent’s houses. She was used to throwing things in a bag and lugging it to her father’s every weekend. She hated how her parents fought, but she liked that she didn’t have to be in the same room with both of them at the same time any more. Her mother let her be more and more as time passed. It was only once or twice a week now that she would come into Maddie’s room, stand in her doorway, and start an hour-long conversation with, How do you put up with that man every weekend? How can you forgive him for what he did to us?

Look, you’re the one who screamed at him that you wanted a divorce, Maddie finally snapped back at her one late Saturday night after she got home from her dad’s.

Oh, is that what he has you believing now?

Mom, Maddie said matter-of-factly. I was there.

You don’t know anything, her mother raised her voice. You don’t know one little bit about what I had to tolerate with your father. He should have stayed. We should have gone to counseling. But noooooooo! He was finished with us. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough. And it kept going like that until Maddie felt herself starting to fall asleep sometime after midnight.

The next day in the afternoon when Maddie and her mother got home from church, Maddie heard her mother on the phone in the kitchen.

What is she reading all the time now? She’s constantly got her nose buried in a book, her mother complained to the person on the phone. "Well, I don’t want her just going over to your place and zoning out all the time. And what is this Shakespeare nonsense? No. . . . no, she doesn’t. She doesn’t really like Shakespeare. She just likes looking like she likes him. She likes putting on airs. . . Oh, yes. Yes I do. I know my daughter, and she likes The Partridge Family, not Macbeth. Shakespeare. How ridiculous for a 13-year-old