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her there, Stella barked with clenched teeth, “Lisa!”
    No response.
    â€œLisa!” Stella barked a second time.
    â€œLet’s check her room. She might still be up there,” Martin said between heavy breaths.
    â€œYeah,” Stella agreed.
    As they hurried to the stairs, there was a thud outside. When Martin and Stella finally went outside in the rain, they saw what appeared to be a little girl, whom they presumed to be Lisa, running down the street approximately two to three blocks away.
    She was talking on a cell phone while occasionally looking behind.
    *   *   *
    Savannah Police Chief Elijah Goodwin had initially doubted Lisa when she had come to him about five weeks before with an incredible story about her parents being responsible for the deaths of their children. The county coroner had previously cleared Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery of any wrongdoing. His detectives had interrogated them previously and had found no evidence of foul play. But Chief Goodwin became intrigued by this intelligent young girl. His main regret now was that Lisa did not inform him earlier that she suspected something might go down tonight.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about your suspicions yesterday? We might have been able to save your sister’s life,” asked Chief Goodwin.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Lisa said sadly. “I had a strong feeling that they might, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.”
    â€œHow did you come up with the idea of planting a tape recorder there?”
    â€œBecause my parents talk too much,” Lisa said, “and I knew they would have something to say while in the act.”
    The police found Trianna’s body, which was still in the bedroom. The tape-recorded conversation, mostly whispered, was incriminating enough for a conviction. Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery were found guilty of first degree murder in the deaths of their four children.
    They were spared the death penalty, but were given four life sentences, with no possibility of parole, because they agreed to cooperate with the federal investigation of the Oak Lawn, Illinois, operations.

 
    1
    â€œC OMING HOME LATE AGAIN? I hardly see you anymore since you started working with those prisoners,” said Manuel, eight weeks into Dickerson’s study.
    â€œYes, I know,” Dickerson said, sitting at the kitchen bar stool, hands clasped beneath her chin, looking guilty.
    â€œWe haven’t been to Tijuana in a long time.”
    â€œBut you have, haven’t you?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, I have?” Manuel asked.
    â€œCome on now, twice you told me that you took some doctors to Tijuana to entertain them,” Dickerson said.
    â€œOh, yeah,” Manuel replied quickly, looking into the kitchen cabinets for sardines.
    â€œThat’s okay by me, honey, because I know that’s part of your job,” Dickerson said while looking for a Corona in the refrigerator.
    â€œWell, if you had been home, I’d see no reason to take those doctors to Tijuana,” Manuel snapped, playing the blame game.
    That surprised Dickerson. What was Manuel upset about?
    She knew that she had been working late hours at the university to finish her project because she planned to present her findings at the American College of Immunology and Genetics, scheduled to meet next month in Florida.
    Manuel did call on several occasions to check on her, and Dickerson did not appreciate that, but to reciprocate, she did at times call Manuel to see how he was doing.
    A week later, it was about 11:30 P.M. , Dickerson had been working late at the laboratory and had totally lost track of time. She had made significant progress and had worked longer hours looking for that elusive band on the gel electrophoresis.
    Tonight, however, on the third trial using the new analytical solution, she was so overjoyed to see the elusive band finally separate on its own.
    â€œYes! Yes and yes!” Dickerson