All Kids Go to Heaven

By Rick Vasquez

"All Kids go to Heaven" Is a psychological thriller mystery. It is about a displaced family who was helped by a church congregation, two children killed, and their mother arrested for the crime of murder. Jenny, the surviving daughter, is determined that her mother was guilty of murdering her brother and sister. She cried to Sergeant Ellis, "Ev

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Aug 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781951775520

Book preview

All Kids Go To Heaven

Copyright © 2020 by Rick Vasquez

Published in the United States of America

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-951775-51-3

ISBN Hardback: 978-1-952896-48-4

ISBN eBook: 978-1-951775-52-0

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of ReadersMagnet, LLC.

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Interior design by Shemaryl Tampus

Chapter

1

Lampat Police Station, August 1995, interrogation rooms.

The reinforced heavy metal door opened with a protesting squeal. A female uniformed officer stood stoic as she led the prisoner into interrogation room one. A slight whimper heard from the prisoner. She whispered nonsense to herself, trying to make sense of the pain she experienced in thought. The clanging of chains dragging on the floor announced the arrival of a person imprisoned. The chair scraped and pulled away from the table. The officer bent over the prisoner to connect her handcuffs to a particular hook made for such confinement. After her hands were secured, the guard placed the chair under the prisoner. The guard made her sit down against the table. The officer proceeded to secure the leg restraints to a built-in eyelet, attached to the floor. All this routine displayed in the Lampat’s procedure manual, subtitled; ‘ The Securing and Restriction of a P risoner During Questioning.’ This procedure was mandatory, per the Commissioner of County Prisons, in the State of California.

A thin medium height woman, the arrestee, wore an orange prison jumpsuit. She sat listlessly with her chin resting on her chest. Her shoulders were hunched forward as she sat at the metal table that was secured to the floor. Her handcuffed hands rested in pain on the cold green surface. She had to mentally bear through the pain of her feet cramping from the ankle shackles. Such precautions seemed unnecessary because this woman appeared to have the strength of a scarecrow. She inevitably wouldn’t have weighed more than one hundred pounds. However, rules are rules, and one’s authority must follow all of them for their safety.

With no complaints from the prisoner, the guard finished her duties. She placed herself against the wall watching the suspect, as if one was protecting the Queen of England. The mind of the imprisoned woman sharply rebelled to any responsibility of why she was there. Loud rings and unclear voices settled into her account, clogging up any sense of reality.

The air in the windowless room was stale after many years of accumulated cigarettes. The off-white enamel walls streaked with trapped tar and nicotine. The chair across from the prisoner scraped the scuffed linoleum floor as a middle-aged woman wearing a beige tweed suit, and brown silk blouse sat down. She carefully placed a softcover briefcase on the table before her. This woman visibly disturbed, almost afraid, stared intently at the prisoner. In her mind, she was evaluating her current assignment. Searching the prisoner’s dark-brown, nearly black eyes, she gulped swallowing her fear of interviewing a murderer. The core of the prisoner in front of her seemed listless. Her pupils appeared empty of thoughts, emotions, and reason. Her face looked abnormally thin, with light wrinkles around her mouth that forgot to disappear when she stopped smiling.

Mrs. Lanky? Mrs. Anne Lanky? The woman said kindly but firm.

Anne Lanky raised her head slightly but continued looking at the table. Her long brown curly hair, obviously lacking care, obscured most of her face. The officer against the wall stiffened, wanting to scream at Anne Lanky to show respect and answer the questions. Mrs. Lanky, I’m Ms. Corbin. I’m assigned to your case. I need to ask you some questions.

Ms. Corbin, a petite blonde, a widowed, was a local psychologist and the closest official to a criminologist in the City of Lampat. She had a private practice that helped married couples to reunite. Her friend, a Detective of the Lampat Police Department, asked her if she would be interested in questioning the prisoner, before arraignment.

Anne Lanky lifted her eyes and glared at Ms. Corbin, unable to make herself respond.

Ms. Corbin reached out and opened her briefcase. She took out a small tape recorder, closed the case, and set the device on top of the table. She pushed the red record button, leaned forward with a sense of hope. The noise from the recorder’s reels broke the silence. Ms. Corbin said, with apprehensive but a stern tone, Mrs. Lanky, do you know why you are here? Muscles twitched around Anne’s mouth, but she made no reply. Ms. Corbin frustrated, kept her hands clenched together on top of the table. It was as if she was the one handcuffed restricted from hurting somebody. With a frown on her face, she stated. You are here because you are being investigated for the murder of your children.

Chapter

2

Down the hallway in interrogation room number two, in the new wing of the Lampat County Jail, sat Jenny Lanky. Jenny was Anne Lanky’s fifteen-year-old stepdaughter, who was not a suspect or prisoner. She was a cooperating witness who found the two victims dead. Upon the arrival of the Lampat Police, Jenny found covered in blood, holding both her brother and sister on her lap. She silently drifted, remembering her siblings. The police took her to the police station to figure out what had happened.

Jenny was interviewed and questioned by Sergeant Ellis. A female Sergeant, who had been with the Lampat Police force for over fifteen years. Jenny, terrorized by the memory of the crime scene, was answering questions concerning the death of her siblings. She passionately explained the process of trying to rescue her brother and sister. She looked at Sergeant Ellis, hoping she believed her story.

Sergeant Ellis, the first police officer at the crime scene, listened intently to the young witness’s grisly details. Jenny, free of chains or cuffs, stood up, pushing her hair out of her face. You can’t believe her… No matter what she says, she killed them! Jenny yelled, hoping her mother could hear her voice.

Sergeant Ellis, a woman in her mid-forties, saw the terror in Jenny’s eyes. She remembered another murder case here in Lampat that was so disturbing that she almost quit the force. Now being a veteran, Sergeant Ellis shook off the memory and concentrated on the present. She gently urged Jenny to sit down. Jenny, please, I know this is hard and unbelievable, but we need your assistance. Please sit here and help me.

Jenny slowly descended, focusing her eyes on the Sergeant. She slapped the table with both her hands as she raised herself in the metal chair. The young adult gulped down a sob and spoke with a mind of confidence. My Mom, is a sick woman, why won’t you believe me? The bitch is a murderer! Jenny placed her hands on her head, feeling the dried-up blood in her hair. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Sergeant Ellis’s heart was torn, trying to be objective, but for a moment, she allowed herself to feel Jenny’s pain.

Chapter

3

Interrogation room number one.

The tape recorder continued its soft whine as it recorded Ms. Corbin’s questions and silent answers from Anne Lanky.

The psychologist rubbed her eyes in frustration. Blaming Detective Stellar for getting her in such a situation. I only need you to give her a quick evaluation, fill out the paperwork, and be on your way. Detective Mike Steller told her over their morning coffee.

Ms. Corbin sighed and began again. Mrs. Lanky, you have to answer my questions. Do you understand? Ms. Corbin peered under Mrs. Lanky’s hair that covered her eyes. She looked deep beyond the surface and saw a spark of life. Mrs. Lanky nodded her head slowly. Ms. Corbin nearly gasped, but stopped herself lest she frighten Mrs. Lanky to retreat inside herself. Slowly Ms. Corbin said, No. You must verbally answer my questions. Do you understand? Ms. Corbin held her breath.

Yes. A soft slushing sound, barely escaped between the prisoner’s dry lips. Ms. Corbin, relieved by the reaction, leaned across the table and spoke rapidly.

Mrs. Lanky, do you know that you have waived your rights to have a lawyer present while answering my questions?

Just as soft as before, Anne exhaled a yes.

Like a shark after the scent of blood, Ms. Corbin struck. Mrs. Lanky, did you kill Donald Allen Lanky and Debra Anne Lanky? Did you kill your children?

Chapter

4

Nebraska, House of Hope, 1994:

A red rural mail truck in the distance bounced through ruts and rills, kicking up an entourage of dust along the way. It passed the cornfields and turned left at the Robertson’s five hundred acres of slowly ripening soybeans, baking under the Nebraskan sun. The postal truck slid to a stop in front of a mailbox shaped like a farmhouse. The mailman leaned out his door, opened the empty container, and placed several letters inside. A bell was attached to the hinges of the mailbox and rang to let the residents know they got mail. The postman securely slammed the mailbox shut. He readjusted his rear end on his seat, closed the door of his truck, and honked. All being a new policy that could cause termination if ignored. He focused on the road and sped away as fast as he came.

Jenny barreled out the torn screen front door. Her haste caused it to slam so hard it nearly knocked off a rotted wooden sign that read, ‘House of Hope.’ I’m getting it! Jenny yelled over her shoulder. She continued screaming as she stomped down the cracked walkway. I don’t see why Donnie or Debra can’t get the mail! She pulled her midriff t-shirt down, covering most of her stomach. At fifteen years old, she wasn’t willing to attract wandering eyes to her body. Jenny didn’t feel overtly threaten Considering that they lived out in ‘No man’s land’ where there was no one’s attention. She continued her protest and yelled one more time at her mother, who was in the house. I don’t care if I’m the oldest. You never make them do anything! She snapped the mailbox open and snatched the mail out, having to have to listen to the annoying bell informing them they have mail. She read the front of each piece of mail as she walked back to the house. Mrs. Winner, Mrs. Winner, Mrs. Anne Lanky, She looked closely at the writing and detected a distinct style, a familiar scribble on the envelope. Mama, it’s a letter from Daddy! Jenny called and ran the rest of the way to the porch.

Anne Lanky opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. "What in the world is all this racket about?" as she tried to keep her voice down.

Excitedly, Jenny waved the letter in front of her mother’s face. It’s a letter from Daddy.

Are you sure? Anne asked as her eyes lit up with excitement.

Jenny handed her mother the letter, Yeah, it’s daddy’s writing, isn’t it?

Jenny squealed. Hurry, open it! Jenny demanded, getting a little too close to her mother’s space.

Anne made a snarl on her face and pretty much snapped at Jenny without saying a word. She held the letter close to her chest and walked back into the house with Jenny at her heels. She was upset with Jenny for rushing her. She felt Jenny was insensitive, knowing a letter from her husband was an extraordinary occurrence. Anne relished the moment to hear good news. It gave her hope for the future for her and the kids. Considering they had been separated from their father for over a year.

Anne loved her husband. They were sweethearts since they both were teenagers. Danny’s aggression and attitude considered, ‘the bad boy,’ It seemed that Anne always found the good things about him. Throughout the years, Danny could never keep a steady job. Something still went wrong. Outside of financial support, Danny was Anne’s rock. She loved him and found herself defending him, accepting all the sacrifices that came with the lack of his responsibility to his family.

It was a harsh winter in Nebraska, and the Lanky family found themselves homeless. The Robertson’s, a family in the community agreed to take the family in. However, they refused to allow Danny Lanky to live on their support. Danny forced to leave to try and find new work so that he could reunite his family. Anne determined not to be a burden on the Robertson’s, pleaded with the County Social Services, to help her find a place for herself and children. The county placed them with a widow in need of care and companionship.

The foyer was dark and shadowy, even at mid-day. The wood floors were water stained and in need of maintenance. An old rug lay tattered next to the door, trying to cover the visible worn spots. Neglect flowed through the walls and up the rickety-looking stairs. Everything was scratched and abused. An old black and white picture hung crookedly on the wall next to the base of the stairs. It was of a young couple enfolded in dust and grime looking proud in front of their new home, ‘The house of hope.’ Today, the house smelled of rot, smoke, and ill-treatment. It screamed for care and attention. The place lacked love since the owner Mr. Matt Winner, the master, the beloved, passed away, leaving his wife to fend for herself. Descending the stairway was the survivor, a skinny drugged-out elderly looking woman, who was only in her fifties. One handheld on to the railing, and the other clutched a ratty cotton kimono. Her hair was pasted to her head, lacking a proper washing, for who knows how long. Mrs. Winners, a woman in need of government services, allowed other county recipients to stay and take care of her in exchange for rent. When she reached halfway down the stairs, she poked her head over the railing and rasped, Is there any mail for me? She sighed as if it took all her strength to make it halfway down the stairs. Jenny silently handed her the rest of the mail and followed her mother into the kitchen. Mrs. Winner balanced her mail in one hand and began her journey back up the stairs. With a cigarette hanging from her mouth, and ash fell unnoticed onto the floor beneath the stairs.

Jenny called out to her mother as she entered the kitchen. Mama, stop right there, come on open the letter.

Anne sat at the steel and Formica kitchen table and snapped back at Jenny. Jenny, back off! Just give me a moment! Anne fingered the letter. She studied the return address. Jenny pulled out a chair opposite of her mother and sat down.

Two faces peered around the kitchen door. Debra Lanky, seven-years-old, was tall for her age with long, flyaway brown hair that never stayed combed. And her ten-year-old brother Donnie, who also had brown hair, except his was curly like his mother. He was rail-thin, giving way to any hope of being tall. They saw their mother holding a letter, and tentatively entered the kitchen. Jenny yelled sternly at her brother and sister. Sit down and don’t you kids say one word… Hurry, Mama! Debra and Donnie sat meekly at the table, sharing the same chair. Anne tore open the letter carefully, preserving the return address. Four tickets fell out onto the table, when she unfolded the note.

Jenny’s eyes widened, Mama, what are those tickets for?

Shh! Jenny. Anne made a face as she tried to read the letter.

Jenny picked up one ticket. Mama, these are bus tickets. Oh, my God! We’re going on a trip! Daddy is going to get us out of this hole. Good-bye, Mrs. Winner and your stinky cigarette breath!

Anne glanced up from reading the letter. Jenny! Quiet, she’ll hear you.

Anne made a face as she retried to read the letter. Your father wants us to leave right away, She said, not glancing up.

Jenny punched her brother out of excitement. Oh my God, did you hear that, Donnie? We’re leaving right away. Jenny stopped a moment and thought, What about my friends? Are we going for good? Not waiting for Anne to answer, Jenny started to leave the kitchen, I’ll be back. I’m going to tell Julie. Jenny ran out of the kitchen and slammed the front door.

Mrs. Winner came to the landing and called. Who’s slamming the damn door?

Anne got up from the table. Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Winner, Jenny was just excited with the news we just received from my husband.

Mrs. Winner grumbled, That’s no reason to disrespect other’s property.

Anne came to the base of the stairs. I’m sorry, it looks as though we will be leaving real soon.

Mrs. Winner grabbed the banister to stabilize herself, there’s money here that is due.