Moonbog (27 page)

“A bit rundown, but a pretty damn good place, wouldn’t you say?” Shaw asked.

Del nodded. “Might be up for sale soon, if what I hear is true.”

The old Logan homestead disappeared behind the pines. Then they drove past Marshall’s house. As they went past the end of the driveway, Shaw glanced over at Del again. He was leaning forward and squinting, looking up at the house. Shaw was going to say something, but when he glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the huddled form of Linda Hollis, he decided not to say anything.

Suddenly, the road dipped down, and then the first view of the Bog appeared on the left. The trees thinned out, looked stunted, and the land stretched away into a bluish haze made warm and moist by the sluggish, standing water. After another hundred yards or so, the Bog came into view on the right hand side of the road as well.

“What a God-awful place,” Del said, shaking his head from side to side as he looked out at the swampy expanse.

“Yeah,” Shaw grunted, “pretty desolate.”

Soon the blacktop road petered out and turned into hard-packed dirt. Shaw had to slow to a crawl so the bumps and potholes wouldn’t shake the cruiser apart. They drove along this road for five minutes and then, rounding a corner, saw Wescott and three other men milling around a large boulder that marked the end of the town road. From that point the Bog could only be driven by a four-wheel drive jeep—on foot was best.

Shaw glanced into the rearview and saw the plume of dust kicking up behind the cruiser. He made a wide arc in the turn-around and pulled up beside Wescott, who had walked forward and was standing in the middle of the road. As the dust settled, Shaw rolled down his window and said, “Well?”

Wescott’s eye jumped nervously back and forth between Bob and Linda Hollis. His mouth was a tight line, almost white. He was reticent in showing the sneaker, afraid that it
would
be Jeffy’s and
he
would be the one who had brought them the bad news—
Looks like your son is dead!

“Have you got it?” Shaw said, a bit edgy. This seemed to snap Wescott to attention, and he reached into the bulging pocket of his windbreaker. He withdrew his hand slowly, afraid to reveal his find. The sneaker suddenly appeared, and Wescott held it by one of the laces.

“Oh my God!” Linda Hollis cried, and then she collapsed onto her husband’s shoulder. Bob sat there, looking at the faded red, mudstained sneaker swinging back and forth in Wescott’s hand. Shaw turned around stiffly and looked at Bob who merely nodded his head once quickly and then looked down at the floor of the police cruiser. “That’s Jeffy’s sneaker,” he said hollowly.

Shaw reached into the back seat and placed his hand on Linda’s shoulder, giving her a few quick pats. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. Then, turning to face Wescott, he snapped the door open and stepped outside. Del got out from the other side.

“At least now we know where to start looking,” Shaw said, assuming a posture of command. “Del, I want you to drive the Hollises home. Then, as you drive back through town, I want you to contact all of the other search parties and tell them to meet us here within a half hour,” he paused and glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s just past one, and eveyone’ll probably be knocking off for lunch. Tell them to rendezvous here at the rock by one-thirty. We’ll fan out from where the sneaker was found.”

“Yes, sir,” Del said snappily, responding to Shaw’s sudden intensity. He got into the cruiser and started it up.

“Pick me up a sandwich at the Sawmill . . . and a Coke.”

“Right.” Del stepped on the gas, making the engine race wildly.

Shaw bent down and peered into the back seat. “Bob . . . Linda, I know this is a shock to you, but . . . but now we have something solid to go on. If we’re ever going to find your son . . . well, I know this is a solid lead.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he!?” Linda screamed. Her body shook as she leaned forward and gripped the front seat. “I
know
he’s dead!” She looked back and forth from her husband to Shaw, his eyes glassy.

“We don’t know that for certain,” her husband said. His voice was tensed and not reassuring.

Shaw swallowed with difficulty and spoke. “I know that . . . that finding that sneaker . . . well, it doesn’t look good, I won’t kid you. As evidence, this is at least an indication, I say an
indication
of foul play. But until this search turns something up, Linda, you just can’t say for certain that Jeffy’s dead.”

Linda’s face twisted, trying to force a smile, but the expression only made her face look that much more grotesque.

Bob Hollis nodded to Shaw and then said to Del, “Please, take us home now.” Del put the car into gear and slowly pulled away.

Shaw stood in the middle of the dirt road, dust swirling around him as he watched the cruiser round a bend in the road and disappear. The loss the Hollises were feeling was too intense to ignore. He and Sylvia had never had children. They maintained that they didn’t want children, at least to their friends. But for many years Shaw had felt a gnawing suspicion that he was sterile. He had never been to a doctor to confirm it, but after years of trying to conceive, they had given up hope of having children. It was only in the past year, since the first young boy had disappeared, that Shaw had felt grateful that he and Sylvia would never know what has to be the absolute worst pain—that of out-living your children.

“Damnit!” he swore softly to himself as he watched the spot where the cruiser had disappeared. He let his eyes wander aimlessly along the length of road until the crackling of his walkie-talkie snapped him to attention.

“Shaw here,” he snapped, raising the receiver to his mouth.

“Chief, this is Win Cameron. I just talked to Del. We’re taking a half hour for lunch and will meet you at the rock right after.” There was a short pause, then Cameron added, “Over.”

“Yeah. Right. Over,” Shaw said. He snapped the off button, clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt and walked to where Wescott and the other men were standing in the shade of the large boulder. “OK, Jeff, I want
to see where you found that sneaker.”

V

“Y
ou’re shitting me!” Les said, unable to hide his surprise. He swallowed hard as his eyes shifted nervously along the length of the diner. He was sitting on the last stool at the end of lunch bar in the Sawmill, next to the cash register. Del stood beside him, hands folded as he leaned on the countertop waiting for his order to be made up.

“It’s his all right,” Del said with some satisfaction. “Now maybe we’ll get this thing going, get this damn search over with.”

“Ummm, yeah,” Les replied. He shifted in his seat and looked down the length of the counter again. It was beginning to fill up with men from the search parties coming in for a late lunch. A few of the guys from the road crew came in and, when they saw Les, looked at him a bit funny, wondering if they had seen him out searching or not.

Del shifted anxiously from one foot to the other as he watched the waitress wrapping up the sandwiches.

“Where . . . uh . . . where did they find the sneaker?” Les asked softly. The restaurant was getting noisy as men filed in. Apparently Del hadn’t heard Les’ question. He reached over and tugged at Del’s sleeve. “Where’d you find it?”

Del was about to answer when the waitress came over and plunked down the two paper bags. She started ringing the sale into the register. As Del dug in his back pocket for his wallet, he said, “I guess it was just a bit due west of where the Little River Road ends.” Del put a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Sort of over near Old Man Logan’s place.”

“Out by the rock?” Les asked. There was something in his voice that made Del pause and look at him intently for a quick moment.

“Yeah,” Del said slowly, measuring his words, “‘bout a half mile or so from there.”

There was a loud clang, and the register drawer slid open. “That’ll be five eighty-seven,” the waitress said. She took the ten spot and began counting out change. Del crinkled down the tops of the brown bags. He held out his hand for the change, counting the bills before slipping them into his wallet.

“You boys headin’ out now, or are you gonna’ sit on your butts all afternoon?” Del asked, looking from Les to several other men from the road crew.

Les slouched down on his stool, saying nothing. Someone at the back of the diner said loudly, “Aww, don’t sweat it! We’ll be there!”

Del smiled faintly, picked up the bags, and left the Sawmill. Les watched him leave and then, after he heard the cruiser start up and pull away, he stood up quickly. “Well, I guess I gotta’ get on home now,” he said to no one in particular. “You boys’ll do all right without me, won’t yah?”

“We did all morning,” someone in a booth behind him said. Les turned and saw Frank Schroder staring at him over the top of his hamburger.

“Yeah,” Les said, “I ain’t feelin’ so well. I thought I was feeling better, but it’s hitting me again.” He strolled toward the front of the diner and left, making a point of walking slowly, as though in pain.

VI

“C
ries like a little bitty baby,” Robbie said mockingly. He reached for his younger brother and tweaked him on the cheek. Sammy swatted his brother’s hand away with a vicious swing.

“Cut it out,” Sammy said, his voice edged with tension. “Leave me alone.”

“Cryin’ like a baby girl,” Robbie said. He started dancing around his brother as he stood on the sidewalk outside the school. Whenever he got close to Sammy, Robbie would poke at him and try to tweak him again.

“I said cut it out!” Sammy cried. He took a half-hearted swing at Robbie, who easily danced out of reach.

Robbie stuck his tongue out and wagged it. “Nah-nah-nah!”

Sammy’s anger was rising. This time, when he swung out at his brother, Robbie’s bouncing step brought him right into arm’s reach. Sammy’s open hand hit his brother’s face with a loud crack and almost spun him around. Robbie’s books fell to the ground with a flutter, and papers blew out onto the sidewalk.

Sammy stared with astonishment as the red print of his hand rose on his brother’s cheek. Robbie’s eyes began to water as he thoughtfully rubbed the side of his face. Then, softly, he muttered, “Now you’re gonna’ get it.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Sammy cried out fearfully. “
Y
ou started it!”

“You’re gonna’ get it!” With that, Robbie sprang at Sammy.

“I didn’t mean—” Sammy started to say, but the wind was knocked out of him as the weight of his brother bore him backward. He lost all sense of balance, and didn’t realize he was falling backward until his rear end hit the sidewalk. His tailbone struck the asphalt, sending a chilling pain up along his spine. His brother’s fists were a blurred flurry around his head and chest as he twisted on the ground, resisting Robbie’s attempts to pin him down.

Grit and pebbles on the sidewalk ground into the back of Sammy’s head as he struggled uselessly to free himself from his brother’s pressing weight. Robbie had Sammy pinned to the ground, with each knee pressing into his biceps.

“You’re gonna’ pay for that, little baby,” he hissed, bringing his face close enough so they almost touched noses.

Sammy was aware of the smell of the spearmint gum Robbie had been chewing. He was surprised that he noticed something like that when he was about to get the crap beaten out of him. He closed his eyes and waited for the first punch to land. Suddenly, Robbie let out a dull, choking groan. Sammy thought the first punch was on its way. He was surprised when he felt R.obbie’s weight suddenly lifted from him. He blinked his eyes open and grabbed a lungful of air, like a drowning swimmer.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” Sammy heard his mother yell. He knew now what had lifted Robbie away. “Fighting in the middle of the street! In front of the school! Like a couple of hoodlums! Just wait ‘til I get you home!”

Groaning with pain, Sammy rolled over onto his side before standing up. He saw that his mother had Robbie by the collar and was giving him a rough shaking. She spun him around, aimed him toward the car, and gave him a vicious swat on the butt to get him started.

Sammy dusted off his pants as he watched Robbie climb into the back seat. He bent down and hastily gathered the fallen books and papers that had scattered across the sidewalk and grass.

“You too, young man,” Leah commanded. She stood beside the car watching him with her arms folded.

‘Just . . . just lemme’ get . . . get these,” Sammy stammered. He grabbed the papers in huge fistfuls, rumpling them as he jammed them into his notebook.

“
Hurry up!
” Leah said, and then she started for the driver’s door. “Just wait ‘til your father hears about this!”

Sammy hurried to the car and jumped into the back seat with his brother. Georgie was sitting silently in the front, trying hard not to look back at his two brothers.

“Just wait ‘til he hears about this,” Leah repeated. “Especially you, Robbie. You should know better!”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders and peered angrily at Georgie. He had to have someone to direct his anger and humiliation at, and the faint, twisted smile on his little brother’s face was enough to get him going.