“No problem,” he countered. “Ready to get back to work?”
“Absolutely,” she said, and back to work they went, fortified by coffee and a new attitude.
When twelve o’clock noon rolled around, the bells on the Catholic Church began chiming the hour.
Just as Katie looked up, she saw J.R. pause over a name.
“What?” she asked.
“The farther I go down this list, the more I realize how out of the loop I’ve been in your lives. I don’t know half these names, even the ones who live right here in Bordelaise.”
Katie frowned. “Really? Like who?”
He shoved the list toward her. “Be my guest.”
Katie scanned the list, going name by name.
“Morgan Detweiller bought the old Freneau place on Bartlett Street. He’s legally blind. A victim of some war. I forget which. I wonder why he still owns a truck?” She moved to the next name. “A. Pendelton. That’s Abby Pendelton. She’s the lady who has that big blackberry farm.”
“Oh. Yeah. I remember that place. I just didn’t know her name.”
Katie nodded, and then continued to run down the names on the list, satisfying herself that she knew who the people were. It wasn’t until she got closer to the bottom that she came to a name that gave her pause.
“Here’s one I don’t think I know,” she said. “Newton Collins. Hmm. The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place him.” She turned in her chair and called out, “Hey, Vera! Do you know a man named Newton Collins? His address is Walker’s Trailer Park here in Bordelaise.”
“The name is familiar,” Vera said. “But I can’t place why.”
Hershel caught the last part of Vera’s comment as he walked into the office. “What name?” he asked.
“Oh. You’re back,” Vera said, and handed him a stack of messages. “None of these are urgent, but…”
Hershel took them without looking, then asked again. “What name?”
“Newton Collins,” Katie said. “He lives in Walker’s Trailer Park, but I can’t place him.”
Hershel nodded. “Oh. Yeah. He goes by Newt. He’s the bus mechanic for the public schools,” he said. “In fact, he got himself hurt pretty bad during cleanup the day of the storm.”
“Oh,” Katie said, and shrugged it off, as she moved to the next name.
“What does he look like?” J.R. asked.
Hershel frowned. “Oh…middle-aged white guy with a big chest and no chin. I’ve never seen him in anything but baggy jeans and big T-shirts. Oh…and a cap. Always wears a cap.”
Suddenly the skin crawled on the back of J.R.’s neck. That was what Holly Maxwell’s pictures of God in the blue truck had been wearing. It could be a coincidence, of course, but it still made him think.
He took the sex offender list and quickly ran a check on the name, but nothing came up. Frowning, he shoved that list aside and started to go back to his own, and then a thought occurred to him.
“Chief. How long has this Collins fellow lived in Bordelaise?”
Katie turned. There was a look on J.R.’s face she knew all too well. When he got something in his mind, he was like a bulldog until he figured it out.
“Why?” she asked. “What are you thinking?”
J.R. shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just that the chief’s description of Newton Collins is exactly what the man in all of Holly’s pictures was wearing. But it’s a common outfit. Something we all wear. I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
Katie grabbed her list.
“I’ve already looked. His name’s not on there,” J.R. said.
Hershel frowned. “That list is only of sex offenders in this parish. They come and go without registering all the time, and we never know unless they reoffend.”
Katie’s heart skipped a beat. Something was beginning to click. She could feel it. “How can we check?” she asked.
“I can run his name through the national database,” Vera said. “Our system is old, but it eventually does the job. Want me to check it, Chief?”
“Sure. Why not?” Hershel said, then nodded toward the list of local truck owners. “Who else popped up?”
J.R. handed him the list.
Hershel was still looking it over when his two deputies walked in.
When Lee Tullius saw Katie, he ducked his head. He hadn’t seen her since the day he’d taken her to the hospital and wondered if she remembered. When she didn’t react, he guessed that day was most likely a blur, for which he was glad. He still had nightmares about the sound of her cries and the depth of her despair. He’d even called his mom in Savannah and talked to her about it. She’d immediately gone quiet, and he realized she was remembering the day she learned his oldest brother wasn’t coming home from Iraq. Then she made a comment he would never forget.
“That’s the sound a mother’s heart makes when it’s broken, and nothing—not even time—can ever make the loss of a child okay.”
He shook off the memory and headed for his desk. That was when he realized J.R. and Katie had been working the lists he and Carter had had to abandon.
He glanced at Hershel, who shook his head and frowned. It wasn’t protocol to let civilians into police business, but this entire week could qualify as an exceptional reason to break a lot of rules.
“Did you get the car taken care of?” Hershel asked.
“Yes, Chief,” Carter said. “Want me to run the evidence up to the crime lab in Baton Rouge?”
Before Hershel could answer, Vera suddenly let out a squeal.
Everyone jumped, including the chief.
“Vera! Damn it! You nearly stopped my heart. What in hell is wrong with you?” he said.
“Chief! Come quick!”
Hershel moved toward the computer screen where Vera was pointing.
“I’m printing this out as we speak, but look. Look! Newton Collins is in the national database. But according to this, he’s still in Los Angeles, California. I ran a quick check of his last known address and came up empty. According to this, he’s been off the radar for at least nine years. Then I checked employment records, and he’s been working for the Bordelaise School District for over eight years. Talk about prime hunting grounds…”
J.R.’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying?” he asked, as he raced toward her desk.
Katie was right behind him. She leaned over the counter, trying to see over Vera’s shoulder.
“What else?” she cried. “What else does it say?”
Hershel cursed. Out loud. And for the first time in his life, he did not apologize to the women present for it.
Then, “Are we absolutely positive it’s the same Newton Collins?”
Vera nodded. “Same Social Security number.”
“God in heaven, how did this happen?” Hershel muttered, as he grabbed the printout.
“Chief! What the hell did he do?” J.R. asked.
“Newton Collins has a rap sheet. He has several convictions for sex offenses against minors. All boys.”
Katie gasped. She kept thinking of her little boy, afraid of a monster at the window, and no one believing his claims. What had they done? What in God’s name had they done?
“Where does he live?” Lee asked.
Katie grabbed her list. “Walker’s Trailer Park—lot four.”
“We’re on it!” Lee said.
When Hershel started out the door with his deputies, J.R. called out, “I’m going, too!”
Katie grabbed J.R.’s hand.
“
We’re
going,” he amended.
Hershel frowned. “It’s best if you—”
“Chief. We’re going. Either with you, or on our own.” Something in J.R.’s tone said there was no point in arguing with him.
Hershel sighed. He’d already broken protocol. Might as well go all the way.
“Just stay out of the way. I don’t need civilians getting hurt.”
J.R. didn’t answer. He just grabbed Katie’s hand and headed out the door.
Hershel pointed at Vera. “Stand by. And watch the radio traffic. I don’t want everyone and their hound dog who has a scanner showing up for the fireworks.”
“Do you think this is the man who took Bobby?” Vera asked.
Hershel frowned. “I think it’s a pretty damned big coincidence that we’ve got an unregistered sex offender who matches the description of our perp, right down to the vehicle he drives,” he said, and bolted out the door.
The sun was hot coming through the windshield of Newt’s truck, even though he had the air conditioner blasting to keep himself cool. One thing he still couldn’t tolerate on his healing flesh was heat.
He glanced down briefly, assuring himself that the kid was still out. Which he was—curled up in the floorboard of the truck with the bedspread tucked around him like a cocoon.
“Boy, oh, boy, we’re gonna have ourselves a high old time,” Newt said, and then returned to his driving, thinking of all the places they would go and all the things they could do in Texas. There was a great theme park called Six Flags Over Texas. He’d never been there, but knew it was somewhere around Arlington. A theme park was a guaranteed kid pleaser, and he needed to please this kid. There had been too many traumatic moments between them already. As soon as they got resettled and he got himself healed up completely, it was gonna be party time.
It had been nearly an hour since he’d left Bordelaise, and he was beginning to feel easier. A few miles back a highway patrol car had suddenly appeared in his rearview mirror, and he’d had a few panicked seconds before it passed him without notice and kept on going. After that, he began letting down his guard. According to the growl in his belly, it was past time to eat. He glanced at the clock on the dash.
Ten minutes to twelve. Almost noon. He needed gas again. Damn, this truck was shit on mileage. He would stop at the next fuel station, fill up and raid their deli at the same time. He made a mental note to pick up some cookies. The kid liked cookies.
He patted his shirt pocket, making sure that the sleeping pills he’d been using were at the ready. He didn’t need to have the kid go all wonky on him again and try to make another run for it, calling attention to them. Plus there was the fact that the kid was sporting two black eyes and a swollen nose. It would be just his luck if some do-gooder went and reported him to the authorities for child abuse.
Satisfied that he had a workable plan for the next few hours, he turned on the radio, settled back into the seat and began watching the roadside for signs leading him to the next gas station.
Bobby was dreaming. He was in Mama’s lap in the big rocking chair beside the window, with Oliver clutched beneath his chin. She was reading
Peter Pan,
and they were almost to his favorite part, where Captain Hook began hearing the ticktock-ticktock of the clock inside the alligator’s belly. Even though he knew what was going to happen, he held Oliver just a little bit tighter and leaned into Mama’s embrace.
He could feel her breath on the side of his face, and the steady back and forth motion of the rocker as she read. It took a while for him to realize she was reading the same page over and over. That didn’t make sense.
“Read faster, Mama.”
But Mama didn’t answer.
“Mama. Mama. Read faster, please.”
It was as if Mama couldn’t hear him, and no matter how many times he asked, she didn’t respond. He was beginning to get scared. Something was wrong with Mama. He let go of his teddy bear as he turned to face her.
Then his heart thumped. He wasn’t sitting in Mama’s lap, after all. It was the monster. He had him. And he was smiling. When Bobby tried to get out of his lap, the monster started to laugh. Bobby struggled, kicking and screaming to get free. The burned skin on the monster’s body started coming off in pieces, like leaves falling off a tree, revealing bloody flesh and bones, and the monster just kept laughing.
“Help, Daddy, help!”
Then the monster stopped smiling and pointed at Bobby. “You don’t belong to your daddy anymore. You belong to me.”
“No!” Bobby said, and then he screamed.
The scream was so startling, Newt nearly ran off the road. Frantic to right the truck before he lost control and rolled it, he fought the skid with every skill he had. When he finally steered the truck to the side of the road and hit the brakes, he was shaking.
“Son of a holy bitch!” he yelled, as he slammed the shift into Park.
His heart was pounding, and his hands were shaking so bad he couldn’t even grip the wheel. He stared down at the kid who was still asleep in the floor of the truck and then laid a hand on his chest just to make sure his heart was still pumping.
“What the fuck?”
It was obvious the kid was dreaming. His eyelids were fluttering, and his body was jerking.
“Chill out, damn it,” Newt muttered, but he didn’t say it too loud. He didn’t want the kid to wake up and start causing trouble before he had some food and drink to placate him.
Still rattled by the shock, he glanced in his side-view mirror to make sure the road was clear behind him, then pulled back out onto the highway. According to a sign a mile back, there was a gas station a few miles ahead.
He drove with one eye on the highway and the other on the kid, making sure there were no more surprises. When he finally saw the gas station, he signaled a lane change, then moved over. A moment later the semi that had been on his tail whizzed past, making the plastic garbage bags in the truck bed rattle like the flapping of a thousand birds on the wing.
He glanced into the rearview mirror, making sure none of his belongings had blown out, then flipped on the turn signal again, slowed enough to take the turn and pulled off the highway into the parking lot of the gas station. There was a small café next door and a half dozen semitrucks parked off to the side. If truckers ate there, it was a given that they served good food in healthy portions.
His belly growled again, and the thought of settling down to a big bowl of gumbo, or maybe a shrimp po’boy, made his mouth water. But he didn’t dare leave the kid alone in the truck, and he couldn’t take him inside. Which meant he was going to have to settle for whatever he could buy inside the station.
He pulled up to a pump and killed the engine, but he didn’t get out until he’d scanned the area, making sure no one was around to notice a pickup loaded with trash bags. Deciding it was safe, he got out, scanned his credit card into the gas pump, then proceeded to fill up.
Once the tank was full, he got in, drove past the pumps up to the front of the station and parked. He glanced down, then reached over and carefully pulled the corner of the bedspread up over the kid’s head, completely concealing him from sight. Should anyone be nosy enough to look in as they walked past, they would see nothing of interest. He knew he was taking a risk, but he needed food and drink, and he needed to pee.