“Maybe you don’t need to forget,” Hannah offered. “My guess is that what you really need to do is find a way to understand and forgive.”
We drove on in silence. I thought of the tattoo on my arm, the eagle I carried with me, my reminder of home. Yet Alber had always been a complicated memory. Here I’d had the love of family, and I’d seen harsh judgment. Perhaps more than anything, Alber was a place where dark secrets flourished in the shadows.
As I drove past the big houses, I thought of ever-watchful eyes peeking out from behind heavy curtains. Eyes that saw me, recognized me, and turned away.
Minutes later, I pulled over and parked in front of the shelter. As we walked inside, I looked again at what fifty years earlier old man Barstow had permanently bricked onto the side of his mansion:
OBEY AND BE REDEEMED
I thought about the word obey, and how those who do it can unthinkingly give over control of their lives to others.
A cluster of women congregated at the front door when Hannah and I walked into the shelter. One woman, young, maybe early twenties, held a baby bundled in receiving blankets. A toddler in worn-thin coveralls clutched her leg, as if to let go risked his life. He looked up at me, his face twisted in fear. One small black, suitcase—the old-fashioned kind without wheels, a bright red belt wrapped around it to keep it closed—rested beside them. The woman whispered to the others between sobs. “I can’t stay anymore. It was bad enough with him there. Now that our husband’s gone, the other wives don’t want me or my kids. If I can’t stay here, I don’t know where I’ll go.”
Hannah angled over to talk to her. As I climbed the stairs, she slipped her arm around the woman’s waist. “Of course, you’ll stay. We’re tight for space, but there’s always room. For the time being, you’ll bunk with another family, two little ones about your little boy’s age.”
“I can’t pay,” the woman said.
“No one pays here, but you’ll be expected to help with chores,” Hannah said. “Let’s get you three settled.”
I stopped on the stairs and looked down at them. “She can have the room I’m in.”
Hannah shook her head. “We’ll move someone in there when you move out. We’ll manage for now.”
Once in my room, I sat on the bed and logged on to my laptop. I wanted whatever information I could find on Evan Barstow. Our encounter in his brother’s office that morning bothered me. It seemed personal to Evan, when he pushed Gerard to get rid of me.
First, I looked up Hitchins, Utah, and discovered it was a small farming community of 1,936 folks thirty miles west of Alber. On Google Maps I traveled up and down the few streets. I suspected Hitchins was another polygamous town. A review on TripAdvisor verified that. “We drove through and saw folks dressed like extras for Little House on the Prairie. Don’t plan to stop here. No restaurant or hotel. The locals don’t want visitors! A cop car followed us through town and made sure we left.”
When I read that last bit, I thought of my after-dark drive with Hannah the night before, Gerard falling in behind us and trailing us through Alber all the way to the trailer park gate.
I wanted to know more about the man. On Google, I typed in EVAN BARSTOW UTAH. Pages of articles and websites appeared, all having nothing to do with the Evan Barstow I was interested in. Hitchins and Alber both being fairly off the grid, I didn’t find any articles about the police in either town. Nothing about big arrests, no photos of either of the Barstow boys handing out plaques to faithful officers or awards to residents who distinguished themselves by helping the local cops. None of the normal cop stuff.
From there, I opened usacops.com and scanned lists of Utah law enforcement agencies. That brought basic information on the departments, addresses for their headquarters and the names of those in charge. The Hitchins PD page listed Evan as chief. A link took me to the department’s rudimentary website, where I found a small headshot of Evan and a department list with phone numbers and email addresses.
I snipped the photo of Evan, saved it, and then sent it on an email to my cell. I did the same with the phone number list.
That done, I logged on to my account with Dallas PD and went directly to a database the department pays for, one that compiles public records, including property and driver’s information, voter registration, criminal indictments, convictions, and civil suits. I plugged in Evan’s name, but little came up. I thought about how folks in law enforcement often hide their information, getting special permission from state and local governments to keep it off the Internet. This wasn’t going to be easy. I had no better luck when I looked for property and driver’s license records, nothing that included an address.
Then I had another thought.
I found Hannah downstairs in a bedroom with two sets of bunks and three twin beds, all laid out side to side. The new woman leaned over one of the beds, changing her baby’s diaper. Her boy had finally let go of her leg and sat on the floor playing with an old wooden Thomas the Tank Engine.
“Can we talk? I only need a minute,” I asked, peering in the doorway.
“Sure.” Hannah turned back to her new boarder. “You and the children settle in. I’ll find something for the baby to sleep in.”
“What do you need?” she asked as soon as we were out of earshot, but she kept walking, going door
