Moonbog (44 page)

“Why don’t you just give Shaw a call, if it’ll make Leah feel better,” David said calmly. “It wouldn’t do any harm to at least have the police alerted. Then, if Sammy shows up in a little bit, all the better. But if he’s in trouble, the cops should know as soon as possible.”

“Please, Les. Let’s just call,” Leah said.

Les stared at David and, as their eyes locked, David felt unnerved by the cold, emotionless gleam in Les’ eyes. David had a quick impression of staring into the eyes of a snake.

Les suddenly went limp. His grip on Leah loosened, and he pulled away from the door. Immediately taking her opportunity, Leah flung the door open and raced to the phone. On the porch, Les and David could hear her hurriedly dialing.

“Everything’ll probably be all right,” David said, smiling weakly.

Les grunted. He stood there, shoulders slouching, looking defeated. David bent down and placed his unfinished beer on the porch. He went down the porch steps onto the lawn and stood there watching Les as he listened to Leah talk to Shaw on the phone. He left around the side of the house without saying a word, wondering if he would ever see Les again.

III

S
haw’s cruiser was parked in front of his office. Shaw was standing on the steps to the building, shouting and waving his arms over his head as he tried to direct the swirl of activity on the sidewalk. Every now and then a call came in over his walkie-talkie, but he barely had time to bark a word or two of reply before his attention shifted to the crowd again.

Porter was sitting on the front seat of the cruiser, casually talking into the microphone to the state barracks. Shaw’s deputy, Del Montgomery, sat tensed in the back seat, wondering if they would ever get this search party organized.

David stood across the street, his back pressed against the cool glass of the pharmacy window. He watched what was happening with a growing concern that nobody would get organized before sunset, which was three hours away. He wanted to go over and talk to Shaw but, as he considered it, he thought it would be better to let the police chief get the search party for Sammy Rankin organized first.

Or was it? he wondered. Was it more important that he tell Shaw about his visit with Les and his reaction to the news that his son was missing? More than a half a dozen times he had started to walk across the street, reconsidered, and repositioned himself against the plate glass window. He was standing in the shade. The crowd was lit by the setting sun, giving the scene a dreamy, motion-picture feel. The sounds of the crowd were muted.

When David saw Shaw and Wescott separate, he inhaled deeply and started across the street. Shaw looked up, saw him coming, and broke away from the crowd to meet him.

After a quick nod of greeting, Shaw stroked his chin and said, “Well, David, I guess if this kid is really missing, it kind of puts a helluva big hole in your uncle’s theory.”

“I guess so,” David replied.

Someone shouted Shaw’s name, and the police chief looked around. “Hey, Chief. We gonna’ be using the boulder at the end of River Road as the base again?”

Shaw mumbled, “Christ,” under his breath, then shouted back, “No! The boy was last seen at Pleasant Pond, swimming. We’re going to concentrate the search on the north end of town for now.”

“You mean we ain’t goin’ into the Bog?” someone else yelled.

“Not yet, anyway,” Shaw answered. “Maybe later tonight if he doesn’t turn up before then.”

That seemed to satisfy everyone, and they turned away from Shaw, continuing their noisy babbling.

Shaw looked at David. “Well, I gotta’ get to work.” He started to turn away, but David grabbed his arm.

“Chief, uhh, this doesn’t mean that Les is cleared, does it?” David looked at Shaw earnestly. “I mean, just because his kid is missing, doesn’t take suspicion from him, does it? My uncle is pretty sure it was Les he saw outside his house that night.”

Shaw laughed deeply. “Come on, man. Are you serious? Do you mean to tell me that you think Les did this to his own kid?”

David shrugged. “If someone could rape and kill young boys, who’s to say he wouldn’t do it to his own kid? He might be
that
twisted.”

Shaw shook his head with disgust and turned away, heading back to his office steps.

“You don’t know for sure that what happened to those other kids happened to Sammy Rankin,” David shouted at Shaw’s back. “He might not be like the rest. He might still be alive.”

Shaw wheeled around, his face contorted with anger and concern. “Sure he could be,” he shouted angrily. “He might be all right, but with what’s been happening around here lately, it ain’t too goddamned likely.” He pointed his finger at David. “I’m goin’ on the assumption that he’s been nabbed by the same person who killed those other boys. Now if you don’t mind, I have a search party to organize and field.”

“Sure,” David replied, so softly he was sure Shaw didn’t hear him. He walked away slowly to where he had parked his car, leaving the noisy crowd behind him. Once he was sitting in his car, he watched as the men gathered into groups, loaded up into trucks and cars, and headed out to the north end of town.

After most of them were gone, and the dust and silence settled once again on Main Street, David started up the car. He was going to go to the supermarket for a few supplies, then pick up Marshall at his house. He hoped that with everything going on in town, they would be able to spend an undisturbed night at the old homestead.

IV

T
he search continued through the afternoon and into the supper hour with no results. By six o’clock, the area between Main Street, the grammar school, and Sammy’s home had been covered all the way out to Pleasant Pond. Shaw was satisfied that the area had been covered thoroughly, so he radioed for the search parties to break off for supper and then begin a wider sweep of the area. He included the Bog.

Shaw, Porter, and Del grabbed sandwiches at the Sawmill and brought them back to the office where, between bites, they went over the grid maps of the town, crossing off places they knew had been covered.

“You’re pretty sure this is another murder, ain’t you?” Shaw asked Porter. “That we got another victim of the Bog Man.”

Porter swallowed his mouthful of food, then responded, “Aren’t you?”

Shaw scratched his head thoughtfully. “I’d like to think not, but—” he took a bite of sandwich .and chewed—”but, shit, I just wish to hell we had something solid to go on, some good leads.”

“We have to deal with what we’ve got,” Porter said emotionlessly. “At least so far, anything the lab has turned up has been circumstantial at best. But sooner or later the killer will make a mistake. He’ll leave something tangible that we can nail him with.”

“You’re sure of that?” Shaw asked anxiously. He swallowed with a loud gulping sound.

“They always do, sooner or later,” Porter replied.

Shaw sighed and stared blankly at the fading light outside his office window. “That’s what bothers me. That it might be
later
.” He blinked and shook his head, pulling the reins in on his wandering thoughts. “So, what do you make of this whole bit with Marshall Logan and Les Rankin?”

“It’s a line, a lead,” Porter said, “but I’m not so sure it’s a very important one. I think we should talk to both of them again . . . once this Sammy Rankin turns up.”

“But do you think there’s anything to it?” Shaw asked.

“If the kid is found dead, I’d say that takes a lot of credibility away from Mr. Logan. But what I
think
doesn’t amount to much; we need some solid proof.”

Shaw grunted and looked over at Del, who sat at his desk silently eating. When Shaw gave his deputy a questioning look, Del merely shrugged his shoulders and continued eating.

“Well,” Shaw said, addressing Porter again, “Logan does seem pretty damn sure. I know he isn’t one to go off half cocked.” Shaw paused, looked at the map, and tapped his finger on the black rectangle that represented Marshall’s house. “He’s always lived here, far as I can remember. It could be that he’s gettin’ on in years, getting a bit senile.”

“That could be,” Porter said. “That’s very possible. Or it could be that he did see someone and has gotten those calls but that he’s wrong—that it isn’t Rankin. Or,” Porter finished dramatically, “it
could
be Rankin.”

From the corner of his office, Del snorted loudly. “Bullshit,” he said simply. “Pure bullshit. Les Rankin isn’t the kind of guy who’d do something like this, kill his own kid. Come on, let’s cut the bullshit.”

Porter smiled cruelly. “If he
did
kill his own kid to shift suspicion away from himself, it’s a goddamned ballsy thing to do. I’m just speculating that it is possible. But Rankin strikes me as a pretty level guy.”

Shaw shook his head as though the idea was water trapped in his ears. “Christ, it’s a hell of a theory.” He glanced at the clock on the wall, stood up, and rubbed his hands together. “Well, it’s six-thirty. We ought to get back out there and use what little light is left.”

Shaw folded up the maps and handed one to Porter, who slid it into his shirt pocket. Adjusting their jackets and gunbelts, they were heading for the door when they heard a heavy knocking. Before Shaw could say anything, the door swung open and Mac Foster staggered into the office.

“Evenin’, gents,” Mac said. His voice slurred, and it was obvious that he had been drinking—as usual.

“Howdy, Mac,” Shaw said, trying to sound cheery, but Mac stank so badly that Shaw wrinkled his nose and stepped away from him. “What can I do for you?”

“What
I
can do for
you
, “Mac said. He wavered unsteadily on his feet, threatening to fall. “I seen ‘em. I seen the lights.”

“Sure, Mac,” Shaw said, finally daring to get near enough to him to steady him. “I’ve heard about your UFOs out there in the Bog.”

“I seen them bright lights tonight,” Mac said.

“Look, Mac,” Shaw said patiently, as though scolding a child, “we’ve got a lot of work cut out for us tonight, I don’t need to hear any tales about lights in the Bog. If you saw anything, it was probably some of the fellas in the search party.”

“Naw, naw, not in the Bog. I ain’t talkin’ bout anything in the Bog. I’m talkin’ ‘bout at the mill.”

Porter looked at Shaw questioningly. Shaw steadied Mac and said, “The mill? You mean the abandoned lumber mill out on Bridge Street?”

Mac nodded his head so violently he almost fell over. “What other mill we got? ‘Course I mean the mill on Bridge Street.” He looked down at his feet and continued to talk to himself. “I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout no UFOs in the Bog. I ain’t seen one of them tonight. She—it, he thinks I’m a dad-burn fool or somethin’.”

“Mac, what about the old mill?” Shaw asked.

“I seen lights inside,” Mac replied after a moment. “I seen lights shinin’ out through the boards they got over the windows, you know? Now there’s some folk say that old mill is haunted. I don’t know ‘bout that, but I seen lights. I’ll lay ten to one odds that’s where the UFO guys is takin’ them kids.” He belched loudly, and the smell on his breath made Shaw gag.

“You’re sure of that?” Porter asked, a touch of skepticism in his voice.

Mac nodded and appeared unconcerned when he let out a low, rumbling fart. “That’s what I seen.”

Shaw looked over at Del, who was waiting in the doorway. “Del, why don’t you go on out there with a couple of guys and check it out.”

Del started to protest, but Shaw waved him quiet.

“You never know, there may be something to it. I know we’ve checked the area, but one more check won’t hurt.”

“Sure thing,” Del responded. He checked his watch and said, “I’ll radio you in half an hour to let you know what we turn up.”

“Good.” Shaw turned to Mac, who pinned him with a bloodshot, watery look. “Thanks, Mac,” Shaw said.

Mac smiled and nodded. “Just tryin’ to help,” he slurred. “Next time I find you at the bar, I’ll be expectin’ a round or two.”

“If this turns up anything, Mac, I’ll make sure you have a dozen rounds at my expense.”

Mac smiled wider, and started for the door. “‘Evenin’, gents,” he said saluting, then he was gone.

V

“G
oddamn, we’re losing the light fast,” Jack Mitchell said. He held a branch out of the way as his buddy, Carl DeVries ducked under. Once they were both clear, he let the branch swing back with a whoosh. Jack had been carrying a high-powered flashlight, but now he switched it on and pointed it at the path in front of them.

“Shaw said he wants us to keep going, even after dark, right?” Carl asked.

“Far as I know he does,” Jack replied. “You want me to call in and check?”

“Well, where in the hell are we? I guess if we’re just about finished our circle, we might as well wait until we’re out of this thick brush before we check in.”

They moved along the path slowly, the sounds of their movement lost in the swelling sound of the spring peepers. The sound seemed to intensify, making the brush close in with a tightening claustrophobic feeling.