The Last Child (27 page)

She nodded. “I think it’s dead, now.”

Hunt approached the box, saw the silver tape, torn free, and beside the box an envelope and a sheet of paper. “I couldn’t leave it outside,” Katherine said. Hunt used a pen to lift the flaps. A film glazed the cat’s eyes. Its tongue protruded.

“It’s dead.” Hunt closed the flaps, then read the note:
You saw nobody. Heard nothing. You keep your damn mouth shut
.

Katherine crossed the room and stood beside him, looking down. She was shaking. “Do you think Ken did it? It came ten minutes after he left.”

“I doubt it.”

“You sound certain.”

“I’m not, but it feels wrong. Why drive off and come back? Why announce himself like that? And why do it in the first place?”

“What does it mean?” Katherine asked.

Hunt read the lines again. “I think it has to do with Burton Jarvis.”

“What?”

“The news coverage has been extensive.” He held her eyes. “You saw Johnny’s notes?”

“Of course.”

“He was there, Katherine, at Jarvis’s house. No matter what he wants me to believe, Johnny was there a lot.”

“Somebody thinks that Johnny saw him?”

“Johnny identified five of the six men who visited on a regular basis. Just five.”

“And number six?”

“Number six was careful. He changed license plates three times that we know of. He’s worried that Johnny can identify him.”

“Are you talking about the cop?”

“We don’t know that it was a cop.”

“Johnny thinks it was.”

“He’s wrong. He has to be.”

“But what if he’s not?”

Hunt lacked an answer. In its place, he offered a hand. “Let’s go find your son.”

It was late when Johnny turned into Steve’s development. He weaved between the buildings, made the final left, and stopped a hundred yards short. Steve’s van was back. Cops cars were parked in the street in front of his apartment. Hunt’s car was there, too. That meant Social Services.

Johnny cursed himself. He should have come back more quickly. He should not have gone at all. They’d take him away for good, now. Sure as apple pie. Sure as anything.

He killed the engine and opened the door. A stand of pines rose to the right of the road, halfway to the building. Johnny kept his shoulder on warm metal, maneuvered between parked cars until the trees were close, then he sprinted for cover. He dove into a bed of needles, pulled himself up, and scrambled for the darkest pocket he could find.

Jack was already there.

“Damn it, Johnny! You scared me.”

Johnny smelled the bourbon on his friend, saw the bottle clutched to his chest. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

Jack shifted, sat up against the trunk of a pine tree. “Where else would I be?”

“Do you know what’s going on?”

Jack pointed at the police cars. “When I got here, that’s what I found.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I walked.”

“It’s four miles.”

Jack shrugged.

“Are you drunk?” Johnny asked.

“Are you preaching?”

“No.”

“You sound a little preachy.”

Johnny ignored the dig. “Is my mother in there?”

“I think I saw her once. Truth is, I don’t really know. I’ve just been waiting for you.” Johnny maneuvered closer to the edge of trees. Jack hissed at him. “Don’t do that, Johnny. For all I know, my old man’s in there, too. I can’t handle that.”

“Your father?”

“He’s trying to make an impression. Working overtime and all. He wants to make detective first grade by the time Gerald goes pro.” He took a pull on the bottle. “Like it matters.”

Johnny slid back into the gloom. Jack was slurring his words, slipping off the tree trunk. He could barely sit up straight. “What’s wrong with you?” Johnny asked.

“Nothing.” Sullen. Johnny turned his attention back to the apartment. “If you must know…” Jack spoke too loudly.

“Shut up, J-man! Jesus.”

Jack lowered his voice. “If you must know, I had a fight with my dad. Somebody called him about what happened at the mall.”

“Let me guess. He took Gerald’s side.”

Jack shook his head. “I expected that anyway. This was about you. He said we couldn’t be friends anymore, said it was my official warning. The last warning.” Jack waved a hand and staggered to his feet. “But don’t worry. I told him to fuck off.”

“You did not.”

The bottle went up. “As good as.”

Johnny studied the window. “If I go in there, they’ll take me away for real.”

“Who?”

“DSS. They’ll take me from Steve’s and lock me up with some stiff-necked do-gooder who makes me take a bath three times a day and won’t let me out of the house.”

“That or somebody looking for a check from the state. They’ll feed you bread and water. Make you sleep on the floor. Make you their slave.”

“Shut up, Jack.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re not.”

Jack stumbled closer and squinted at the windows. When he spoke this time, he really was serious. “They’re probably worried. Your mom and all.”

“I can’t think about that right now.”

“Why not?”

Johnny took Jack by the shirt and pulled him up. “Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“Just come on.”

He marched Jack to the truck. “Wait here.”

“Dude…”

But Johnny wasn’t listening. Ignoring the cop cars, he tried the door on Steve’s van. Locked. In the yard, he pried a loose brick from the edge of the sidewalk. A straight walk back to the van, brick up in his right hand. He smashed the van’s window, reached in and opened the glove compartment.

At the truck, he snatched the bottle out of Jack’s hands and tossed it into the dark. He handed Jack the box of shells. “Hold these.”

“What is that?”

“And this.” He shoved the pistol into Jack’s hands.

“Oh, shit.”

Johnny opened the door and looked hard at his friend. “You coming this time?”

“Oh, fuck,” Jack said, and Johnny fired up the truck.

Johnny kept it at the speed limit, then coasted to a stop at the top of the hill. Below them, the road stretched all the way to Johnny’s house.

“What are we doing?”

“I need to get something.”

“Anybody there, you think?”

“One way to find out.”

Johnny took them down the hill and the house came up on the right. A few lights burned. Nothing in the driveway. He eased the truck in and switched off the engine. The night air was still. Nothing moved in the house. “Looks empty.” Johnny climbed out and tried his key in the front door. “It doesn’t work,” he said.

“Is it the right key?”

Johnny tried again. “She must have changed the locks.”

“Why?”

“Holloway, I guess.”

“That’s good, right?”

“If that’s what it means.”

“Well…” Jack looked around, and Johnny threw a rock through the window. “Jesus, Johnny! Freaking warn me next time.”

“Sorry.”

“Who throws a rock through his own window?”

Johnny turned, his voice intense. “Don’t you get it?” He pointed up the road, back the way they’d come. “The cops know I ran off from Steve’s, so they’ll call Social Services for sure. They’ll put me some place I don’t even want to think about. They’ll lock me down and that’ll be it. Game over.”

“Huh?” Jack was drunk.

Johnny gripped his shoulder and squeezed. “This is my last chance to find her. You think I give a crap about Ken’s window? Steve’s van? None of that matters.”

Johnny released his friend with such force that Jack staggered. Johnny picked up a broken branch and used it to knock shards from the window frame. When he tossed the branch down, he made sure Jack knew who was in charge. “Wait here,” he said. “Keep an eye out.”

He climbed through the broken window, flicked on the overhead light. The place looked the same but felt different. A pang of loss stabbed him in the heart, but he ignored it. Going first to his mother’s room, he pulled open the bedside table drawer and scooped out the cash he found there. Two hundred bucks, give or take. He took two twenties and put the rest back. In his room, he opened his backpack and stuffed in clothing and a blanket. From his closet, he took two jackets, one made of denim, the other of cotton twill. Turning to the bed, he scooped up his copy of
An Illustrated History of Raven County
. It fell open to the page dedicated to John Pendleton Merrimon, Surgeon and Abolitionist. For a second, he touched the picture of his namesake, then he turned the page. The bold heading read: “The Mantle of Freedom: Raven County’s First Freed Slave.” There was the story of Isaac Freemantle, and there was a map.

On the map was the river and a trail.

The trail led to a place.

Johnny snapped the book closed and stuffed it in the pack.

The gun went in on top of it.

In the kitchen, he found canned food and peanut butter, a large flashlight and a box of matches. He pulled bread off the shelf, two cans of grape soda from the refrigerator. For an instant he considered writing his mother a note, but the moment passed. If she knew what he planned, she would only worry more. He walked outside and tossed the cotton jacket to Jack. “Here.” Johnny pulled on the jean jacket. Jack was starting to sober up. Johnny saw it in his damp, miserable face, in the wary manner in which he looked down the stretch of lonely road. “You don’t have to come,” Johnny said. “I can do this by myself.”

“Johnny, man. I don’t even know what you’re doing.”

Johnny looked into the deep woods behind the house. He thought of the gun that weighed down the pack. “I’ll tell you when you’re sober. If you still want to come, then you can come.”

“Where are we going now?”

“Camping.”

Jack looked blank, and Johnny put a hand on his shoulder. His mouth was a sharp line, his eyes very bright. “Think of it as an adventure.”

Hunt stood by the fireplace and kept a wary eye on Katherine Merrimon. She sat on the sofa in Steve’s living room, shaking and flushed. Every few minutes she would stand and stare through the window. Yoakum was in the kitchen. So was Cross. Steve paced and threw frightened looks at Hunt. He tried to speak to Katherine, but she slapped him. “It’s your fault,” she said.

“That damn kid.”

She slapped him again.

“I’m going outside,” Steve said. “I need a smoke.”

“Don’t come back.” She didn’t even look at him.

“Katherine…”

She stared into the dark and Hunt stepped forward. “Go have your smoke, Steve. Give us a few minutes.”

He opened the door. “Fine. Whatever.”

Hunt waited for the door to close, then took Katherine’s arm and led her to the sofa. “We’ll find him.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I will do everything that I can do to bring your son home. That’s a promise.” Both of them recognized the empty nature of the promise. Katherine folded her hands in her lap. “Nothing matters more to me, right now. Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know.”

“I promise, Katherine. I swear.”

She nodded, shoulders turned in, hands still folded into a small, perfect package. “Do you think somebody took him?”

Hunt could barely hear her. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“Maybe somebody decided that a threat wasn’t good enough.”

Hunt turned on the sofa. “There was no forced entry, no sign of a struggle. Steve’s truck was taken. Johnny knows how to drive. He had access to the key.”

“I need him back. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I need my son home.”

Hunt watched her stare through the glass. Yoakum appeared in the kitchen door. “Clyde,” he said, and motioned with a finger.

Hunt walked to the kitchen. “What is it?”

Yoakum led Hunt into the kitchen and stopped at the small table. “You see anything here that bothers you?” Hunt looked at the table. It was mostly bare. There were a few magazines, some mail, yesterday’s newspaper and an open phone book. He was about to shake his head when Yoakum said: “Phone book.”

It took a second, then Hunt saw it. Levi Freemantle, 713 Huron Street.

“Oh, shit.”

“Why would he care about Levi Freemantle?”

“He thinks Freemantle knows where Alyssa is.”

“Why would he think that?”

“He thinks that David Wilson might have told him before he died.” Hunt closed the book. “This is my fault.”

“No one could have guessed he’d do something like this.”

“I could have.” Hunt scrubbed his hands over his face. “The kid’s capable of just about anything. It was stupid of me to think he’d just let this go.”

“I can be there in eight minutes.”

“No. The kid trusts me, more or less. Better if I go.”

“Well, you’d better hump it.”

They went back into the living room, but Steve burst in before they made it across the rug. He pointed a finger at Katherine, then closed his hand into a fist. His lips were drawn, his face red. He pumped his hand, as if trying to control his temper.

“What is it?” Hunt asked.

Steve cut his eyes to Hunt. His words were clipped, and he stabbed a finger toward the street. “That little shit stole my gun, too.”

Ten minutes later, Hunt had been through every room in Freemantle’s house. He called Yoakum from the living room. “I missed him.”

“Any sign he was there?”

Hunt stepped onto Freemantle’s porch and fingered the torn, yellow tape. Up the street, dogs howled. “Tape’s down. Door’s open.”

“Should we put an all-points on the truck?”

Hunt considered. “What if Johnny was right? What if the sixth man was a cop?”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“But what if? What if we put out an all-points and the wrong cop finds him?”

“You think we should keep this quiet?”

“I don’t know. Thinking this way feels twenty kinds of wrong.”

“I’m with you. Hang on a sec. What?” The phone was muffled. Hunt heard muted voices, then Yoakum was back. “Aw, shit.”

“What?”

“Cross says he already called it in.”

“Nobody authorized that.”

“He says a runaway kid in a stolen truck carrying a stolen gun is a no-brainer. Frankly, I can’t disagree with him, especially since…”