Back Before Dark (23 page)

W
hen Cooper rounded the corner onto Fremont, he saw Dad’s F-150 parked on the driveway. So was a police car.
Great.

Cooper’s mind raced. Should he take off? Hide out until the cop left? This had to be about what happened at VanHorton’s house.

Or Stein’s. Lava formed in his stomach.
Run or stay. Run or stay?

He stopped pedaling and coasted toward the house. Dad was talking to the officer—and he wasn’t in cuffs or anything. That was a good sign. He hoped Uncle Jim was as lucky. The cop turned slightly.
Detective Hammer.
Cooper started pedaling again.

Both men watched him wheel up. Dad looked more beat than Cooper had ever seen. No need to ask if there was any positive news on Gordy.

Hammer looked the same. All business. Tough. But there was something about him that made Cooper feel a little encouraged. Not enough to cool the molten lava churning in his stomach, but it was something.

“Hey.” That was all Cooper could think of saying. He braked and put a foot down.

Dad glanced at Hammer. “Can I tell him?”

The lava lurched. Cooper swallowed hard to keep it from erupting.

Hammer kept his eyes on Cooper and didn’t say anything.

“We might have caught a break tonight,” Dad said. “We’re just not sure.” He quickly explained about the 9-1-1 call, finding the T-shirt, and Michael VanHorton’s repeated denials of abducting Gordy in some pretty intense-sounding questioning that followed at the police station.

Cooper had to stop them. They were following a bad lead. Hiro was right. They’d all be wasting their time—and Gordy may not have much more of that left. But if he told them the truth, then what? He’d
really
be in trouble. Deep.

“Cooper?”

Dad studied him. “You okay?”

Cooper swallowed again. There was no holding back this eruption. He took three fast steps to the lawn, dropped on all four, and let the volcano erupt.

A regular Mt. Saint Helens, the burning vomit spewed out his mouth and nose.

He felt Dad’s hand on his back. “It’s going to be okay. That’s all right.”

Cooper’s stomach squeezed out the last of it. His throat and nose felt raw. His stomach felt weak. He spit on the ground several times, then backed away and tried to stand. Dad grabbed Cooper’s arm and helped him to his feet.

“It makes me sick too,” Dad said.

Cooper did not want to tell them what he’d done, but one thing was for sure. If he didn’t tell them he planted the T-shirt, he’d be letting them believe a lie to protect himself. Keeping this a secret might actually hurt Gordy.

Cooper had made enough mistakes already. He took a deep, shaky breath and cleared his throat. “I planted the T-shirt at Michael VanHorton’s. And we made the 9-1-1 call.”

Dad looked confused. “What?”

“Somehow I had to make sure that guy’s house got searched. We figured if the police got a report that a neighbor had seen Gordy—” He didn’t finish. Didn’t have to.

Dad put his arm around him and pulled him close. “Cooper—no, oh, Cooper.”

The way he said it—not like he was angry. More like he understood what Cooper was feeling, but agonizing over Cooper’s way of dealing with it.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t think things would get so messed up.” He glanced at Hammer.

He didn’t look surprised. Had he known all along?

“I’m sorry I caused all that trouble,” Cooper said. “I had no idea you and Uncle Jim would come.” He looked directly at Hammer and squared his shoulders. “But honestly? Except for that, I’m glad I did it.”

“Me too,” Hammer said. “Off the record, of course. I enjoyed the sight of your uncle rearranging VanHorton’s smirky face. I’d be lying if I told you otherwise. But what you did was wrong—and stupid.”

Dad squeezed him tighter. Cooper could hardly breathe.

Hammer raised his chin slightly in a nod. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Cooper’s heart raced again. Did he know about Stein’s? Of course he did. He was a cop. And a good one. “Nothing I
want
to tell you,” he said. “But, ah, there’s something I probably
should
tell you.”

Cooper glanced up at Hammer. Again, no surprise registered on his face.

Dad squeezed his shoulder. “Tell him, Son.”

Cooper nodded. And spilled. It all gushed out like the volcano on the lawn. And when he was done, he felt better. Way better. Except for the little detail of what was going to happen next. Cooper pictured Hammer reaching for his cuffs—and Dad putting Cooper on a leash.

Hammer didn’t say anything for what seemed like a long minute. “Going into Stein’s house was
not
smart. You know that, right?”

Cooper nodded. “After VanHorton’s, we couldn’t exactly try the 9-1-1 tactic again. But I had to make sure.”

Another long pause on Hammer’s part.

“So,” Hammer said. “Any more houses on your list to visit?”

Cooper shook his head. “No ideas. I don’t know what to try next.”

“Try letting the
police
handle this,” Hammer said.

Hammer didn’t look mad. And neither did Dad, for that matter. Just tired and really disappointed.

Cooper stood taller. Whatever was going to happen to him now—the leash or the handcuffs—he just wanted to get it over with. “So what are you going to do? With me, that is.”

Hammer cocked his head back and to the side slightly. “What I ought to do is bring you to the station.” He paused. “But your dad doesn’t need this on his plate, too. So, officially, we never had this conversation. I never heard your confession. I’ll just make this whole thing disappear.”

Relief washed over Cooper. He reached out his hand. “Thanks, Detective Hammer.”

Hammer shook his hand with a firm grip. “The 9-1-1 call. Clever—but not very smart. There’s a difference.”

Cooper nodded.

Dad shook Detective Hammer’s hand, too. No words came, although it looked like he tried to say something.

“But that’s it,” Hammer said, focusing back on Cooper. “No more calls to 9-1-1—or breaking into empty houses. Understood?”

“Absolutely.”

“If something else happens,” Hammer said, “I’ll be talking to you again—but at the station. Got it?”

Cooper nodded again.

“He’ll pay for the broken windows,” Dad said. “And,” he looked directly at Cooper, “the two of us have some serious talking to do.”

“And for whatever it’s worth,” Cooper said. “Stein’s basement is flooding. Maybe the realtor should get a heads up.”

“If we get any more rain, all the basements along Salt Creek will fill right up to the top like giant toilets,” Hammer said. “And if the city loses power, a lot more basements will flood.”

Dad looked toward the house. “Ours will be among them. The sump pump is running constantly as it is.”

“Thanks again, Detective Hammer. I’ll pay for the windows.”

Hammer waved it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He wore a hint of a smile. “You’ve got guts, Cooper. I like that.” He tapped the side of his head. “And you didn’t make me use my baloney detector. Truth builds trust.”

Dad looked across the street at Gordy’s house. “I’d better explain to Jim what happened.” He shook Detective Hammer’s hand again and trotted across the street.

Cooper was happy Dad didn’t ask him to come with. He would
not
want to see Uncle Jim’s face when he heard the news. On the one hand it was good news, VanHorton didn’t kidnap Gordy. But then that was bad news, too. Now they were back to zero leads.

Hammer stepped over to his car and pulled open the door. He turned to face Cooper. “We’ll find your cousin.”

The way he said it picked up Cooper’s pulse immediately. Like he had no doubts. Cooper wasn’t sure if he really believed it, or if he was just saying it to make Cooper feel better. But it was working.

“And we’ll find the one who took him too.” Hammer ducked into the car, slammed the door, and rolled down the window.

Cooper stepped closer.

“The guy who did this is like one of those creepy bugs with all the legs, the kind that crawls under a rock during the day. Know what I’m talking about?”

Cooper nodded.

“A creature of the night,” Hammer said. “But he’ll crawl out from under that rock again. Guys like him always do.” He started the engine. “And when he’s does, I’ll get him.”

A chill flashed up Cooper’s spine, down his arms, and back. “Do you have any leads?” Cooper blurted it out—which was stupid. Detective Hammer wasn’t going to share any intel with him. “I’m sorry,” Cooper said. “I just wondered. Hoped, maybe.”

“We’re not just sitting around waiting for a break in the case, if
that’s what you’re asking.” Hammer slid the gearshift into reverse. “Stay safe, Cooper. Use your head. No more stupid stuff. In the meantime, I’ve got work to do.”

Work to do.
Somehow that didn’t sound like serving search warrants or breaking down doors. More likely it was cleaning up after Cooper’s mess. But nothing to actually help find Gordy. “Back to the station?” Cooper asked.

Hammer smiled like he knew something Cooper didn’t. Something he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve got a few more rocks I want to turn over.”

I
n bed, Cooper stared at the ceiling long after everyone else was asleep. Hiro’s words kept rolling in his mind. Two things were certain. She was done looking for Gordy. And she truly felt he was …
gone.
Not that she wasn’t willing to do anything for a friend—but she didn’t see the point of putting themselves in danger. She was too practical
not
to face the truth. The truth as
she
saw it, anyway.

Was that his problem? Was he not willing to see reality here?

Fudge sat up, stretched, and nuzzled Cooper’s arm. He slung his arm around her shoulders.

You’ve done everything you could.
Isn’t that what Hiro said? Like he should let himself off the hook or something. He’d paid his dues. Like he’d made good on a debt he owed Gordy.

In a way, he had been paying a debt, hadn’t he? Trying to make up for not being there to help Gordy escape the guy. Not being close enough to keep the guy from tossing Gordy into the van. If only he’d been closer. Pushed harder. If only he’d have remembered the right plate numbers. If only.

Hopelessness overcame him.

Guilt.

Guilt.
He
did
feel guilty for what happened. Why Gordy? Why not himself? Had he really been doing all these to rid himself of the guilt?

Maybe to a certain extent, part of his drive was about making the pain of the guilt go away.

Cooper’s stomach twisted. Hiro was right again. Deep down, everything from posting flyers to breaking into Stein’s house was partly about making
himself
feel better.

The thought repulsed him.

Fudge leaned into him, and he scratched her gently.

If he was trying to make himself feel better, then all these crazy, risky stunts were partly about
himself
, not just Gordy.

God, no. No, no, no.

Hiro was right about a lot of things. Like the fact that Cooper was carrying guilt about things he had no control over. Dr. McElhinney had said that, too. Guilt and grief make a toxic combination. Cooper wasn’t exactly sure what he had meant at the time, but he was beginning to see how guilt was poisoning him. It was time to shed the guilt that didn’t belong.

Forgive me, God. Forgive me. Show me how to help Gordy. Really help him. Protect him, God. Please.

Fudge nuzzled him again, bringing him back to the present. How long had he been laying there? Had he slept?

He didn’t know, but he felt somehow clearer.

One thing he was sure of: from now on, if he was going to do something, it had to be for the right reasons. No more doing things to make himself feel better.

And what
was
the right reason? What was the only thing that should have been motivating him from the start? That answer was easy. His
love
for Gordy. Along with Hiro, he was Cooper’s best friend. He was family. And he was in trouble.

Okay. So now
love
would be the only motivator. He wanted to lock in this commitment in a special, maybe even ceremonious, way. Because it was the right perspective—and he didn’t want to forget it. And he knew exactly how he needed to seal the deal—or more accurately,
where.

“Hey, Fudge,” he whispered. “Want to go for a little run?”

She stood, stretched, and shook her whole body happily.

“Lets take your collar off, girl.” Cooper slid it over her head. “We’ll put this back on outside.” The last thing he needed was for her to wake his parents with the sound of the tags jangling around her neck.

He slipped on his jeans, pocketed his phone, and balled the collar in his hand. “Let’s go.”

With Fudge at his heels, Cooper tip-toed down the hall and checked for light coming from under his parent’s bedroom door. Black. He took the stairs to the first floor, stepping toward the sides so they wouldn’t squeak as much.

He thought about leaving a note in the kitchen but decided against it. He wouldn’t be gone long.

H
e was almost ready to leave when he saw the boy riding down the alleyway with his dog. The orange glow from the street lamps made it hard to see the color of the bike, but it was the right type. And the kid looked to be the right size.

He watched the bike come closer and stop exactly where he’d stopped the last time.
It’s him.
He felt the rush immediately.

Sitting up just slightly in the seat, he peered under the rim of the steering wheel to watch. The kid dismounted, stepped over the curb, and took a few steps into Kimball Hill Park.

All the shadows made it hard to see. He wished he had a night vision scope.

The kid fished something out of his pocket and held it with both hands. A phone.

“Who are you texting, kid?”

Was he telling his parents he was on his way home? That he’d be back soon? This was perfect. The kid was predictable. He showed up last night. And tonight. He’d be back tomorrow night too.

The kid pocketed the phone and got down on his knees. He bowed his head and just stayed there.

Weird.

When the kid raised both hands heavenward, stretching like he was trying to reach the stars, he knew. The kid was
praying.

Beautiful. This was perfect. He was making a memorial out of the spot where his friend disappeared. He came to plead with God to help him, or forgive him, or some other equally futile act.

Futile
was the right word too, because God didn’t exist. And if he
did
exist, he had more important things to do than to listen to some kid asking for favors. He should know. He’d learned that the hard way. But he wasn’t a kid anymore.

The dog could be a challenge. But he’d figure something out. Detective Hammer would look like a buffoon. A total idiot. Incompetent. Inept. And they’d probably take him off the case. That would take Hammer’s pride down a peg or two.
Guess who will be looking stupid now, Detective Hammer?

The kid was still on his knees. Rocking slightly. Then he lowered himself out flat on the ground. On his face. After all the rain they’d had, the kid would get soaking wet. This was rich. He wished he could film this. Wish he’d filmed the whole thing.

Why don’t you try shouting, kid. Maybe then God will hear you.

He wished he’d made the plans for tonight. He’d grab the kid right now. But rushing things led to mistakes. And only amateurs made mistakes. Besides, he was driving his own car again tonight. Tomorrow night would be different. He’d “borrow” somebody else’s car for the grand event.

Suddenly the kid stood. Hugged his dog. Picked up his bike.

He caught a good look of his face in the orange glow of the streetlight. It was
him
all right. And he was smiling. Strange kid.

“You’ll be back tomorrow night, won’t you, kid.”

The kid swung a leg over his bike and stood on the pedals like he couldn’t get home fast enough.

“I’ll be waiting for you. But you won’t be smiling next time. You’ll probably wet your pants.”