Torn Apart (26 page)

He hurried inside, pausing long enough to locate the restrooms, then headed there without looking around. He’d learned a long time ago that not making eye contact was one of the simplest ways to stay unobserved.

He stepped quickly into the bathroom and was out within a couple of minutes. Then he headed straight for the coolers in the back, grabbed some bottled water and a six-pack of cold Pepsi-Colas, before moving to the deli counter near the register.

The clerk was a middle-aged woman with bad skin and even worse teeth. “What’ll it be?” she asked.

Newt pointed to some precooked corn dogs and burritos.

“Gimme four corn dogs and a couple of those burritos. Oh. And maybe some of those potato wedges. To go.”

While she was sacking up his order, he added a bag of cookies, a bag of chips and a couple of Snickers bars. It had been a while since he’d had himself a Snickers, and he was craving one big-time.

He kept glancing toward the truck while he waited for the clerk to total up his purchases.

“Could you hurry that up?” he asked. “I got somewhere to be.”

The clerk looked him up and down but didn’t comment.

Newt silently cursed himself. What the hell had made him say that? Now she was gonna remember him. Fuck.

“That’ll be twenty-three dollars and forty cents,” she said.

Newt slid a five and a twenty across the counter, pocketed the change she gave back and headed out the door with his food.

A car pulled up behind him, then stopped, as he was getting into the truck.

“Now what?” he muttered.

When he saw a Parish Police emblem on the door, he nearly fainted. What had made them suspicious enough to look for him? Someone must have seen him leaving the trailer carrying the boy. But how had they found him so fast?

“Oh, God…oh, no. Oh, shit, shit, shit.”

Just as he was about to get out with his hands up, a woman walked out of the gas station, walked right past him on the driver’s side and got into the cruiser. A moment later the car pulled away, leaving Newt weak and shaking behind the wheel.

“Oh, crap. That was close,” he said, and then quickly started the engine and drove away.

Fifteen

M
abel Pryor had lived in lot seven of Walker’s Trailer Park ever since her divorce more than fifteen years earlier. She used to work the night shift at the nursing home, but she’d retired a little over a year ago and had been trying to get her body clock adjusted to daylight living ever since.

To do so, she spent as much time outside in the sunshine as she could tolerate, but in the heat of a summer day, she generally opted for the cool comfort of her trailer, her knitting in her lap and the television talking constantly in the background.

Today, though, regular programming continued to be interrupted by an Amber Alert regarding Bordelaise’s own Bobby Earle. Mabel knew the Earles and was heartsick over what had happened. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything for worrying about the boy, and had been in and out of her trailer all morning.

She’d watched her neighbor’s yard getting cleared of storm debris, watched Sam and Freddy stacking up firewood and hauling off brush, and she was still outside when they drove away with the last load.

She’d gone back into her trailer soon after, but when she happened to look out to see Newt Collins hurrying back and forth from his trailer carrying electronic equipment and garbage bags, it didn’t take her long to figure out he was moving. She snorted beneath her breath, thinking to herself that he was probably running out on the rent he owed Sam. She watched him as he made trip after trip, right down to the last time when he dumped that load into the cab of his truck instead of the truck bed. It wasn’t until he left the park that she went back to her knitting.

When she saw the Amber Alert again, she thought of all the people she knew who drove blue trucks, even that worthless Newt Collins, and shook her head, thinking if they didn’t have any more than that to go on, the little boy would never be found.

It was a couple of hours later when she saw two Bordelaise police cruisers pull into the trailer park. They were driving without lights or sirens, so she thought nothing of it, until they came to a stop at lot four.

At that point Mabel’s curiosity got the better of her. She dumped her knitting on the floor and rushed to the window. When she saw a blue pickup pull in behind the police cruisers and recognized J.R. and Katie Earle, her heart skipped a beat. It was their little boy who was missing!

And then it hit her again that Newt drove a blue truck—just like the one mentioned on the Amber Alert. Surely there wasn’t a connection. Surely.

She moved closer to the window to watch.

Chief Porter was the first one out of the cruiser. He turned immediately and pointed at J.R. and Katie.

“Stay back.”

Katie stopped, but J.R. didn’t. He kept walking toward the trailer. At that point Katie wasn’t about to stay put and hurried to catch up.

“Well, hell,” Hershel said, and quickly took the lead. “Check the back,” he said to his men, and Carter split off from the group and disappeared around the corner.

The sound of their footsteps echoed on the wooden deck as they approached the front door. Out of habit, Hershel brushed his hand across the butt of his pistol, checking to make sure it was there, then knocked.

No one answered.

He raised his fist and pounded on the door again.

“Bordelaise Police. Open the door, Mr. Collins.”

Silence.

“Want me to kick it in, Chief?” Lee asked.

“No. Wait. I’ll—”

At that moment, they heard a man’s voice, shouting from across the way.

“Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?” It was Sam Walker, the owner of the park, hurrying toward the trailer. “What’s happening?” he asked, as he started up the steps.

“We need to talk to Mr. Collins,” Hershel said.

Sam shrugged. “His truck is gone, so he’s probably gone, too. Said something earlier about needing to be somewhere this afternoon, I think. Can’t blame him. He’s been stranded here all week…. Ever since the tornado, actually. Me and my boy, Freddy, just got the debris cleared away from his truck this morning.”

J.R. groaned. If they had figured this out yesterday, Newt Collins would still have been here—maybe with Bobby.

Hershel understood J.R.’s frustration, but they still didn’t know if this was the man they were looking for.

“I need to ask you a couple of questions,” he said to Sam.

Sam shrugged. “Shoot.”

“Have you seen any kids around the park in the past week?”

Sam frowned. “None that don’t belong. As for Newt, he’s been nearly bedfast the last week from his injuries. I felt sort of guilty he got hurt at all, because I’m the one who came and got him. All the men here went downtown to help out with search and rescue. Newt fell into some kind of chemicals at the lumberyard and burned himself down the front pretty bad. He’s spent most of the week naked.” He glanced at Katie and shrugged. “Sorry, ma’am. Just stating the facts. He was too sore to wear clothes, you understand. I took him to the doctor and such.”

Katie clutched J.R.’s hand. She wanted to look inside. She needed to know for herself that her baby wasn’t there and—please, God—had never been there.

Hershel’s hopes fell. Still, he needed to eliminate this man before moving on with the search.

“Here’s the deal, Sam. Newt isn’t here, but I need to look inside his trailer.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t know. It don’t seem right to—”

“We’re looking for my boy,” J.R. said. “Newt Collins fits the description of the man who took him.”

Hershel frowned. This was getting out of hand, just like he’d feared it might. “That’s not for—”

But J.R. wasn’t about to be quiet. “This is my son we’re talking about. Sam, either open the door or I’ll open it for you.”

Sam’s eyes bugged. “I heard about that Amber Alert a while ago. Are you saying Newt’s the man who took your boy?”

“We don’t know, but since he fits the general description, we need to eliminate him to be able to move on,” Hershel said.

Sam took a ring of keys out of his pocket, found what he was looking for and promptly opened the door.

“He’s pretty messy,” he said, as he walked inside with them. “But he always pays his rent on time.”

Except for the filth, at first glance nothing seemed strange. Then suddenly J.R. pointed to the corner of the room.

“The television is gone.”

Lee turned toward the kitchen area. “And the counters are a mess, except for this area here. It’s about the size of a microwave. I’d say that was missing, too.”

J.R. bolted for the back of the trailer before Hershel could stop him, with Katie right behind.

“Shit,” the chief muttered, and hurried down the hall.

“Don’t touch anything!” he yelled, and then came to a stop in the bedroom doorway.

J.R. was kneeling beside the bed, looking at the pieces of rope lying on the floor. Katie’s hands were over her mouth, but they didn’t muffle the keening sound coming up her throat.

“There’s blood on those ropes,” J.R. said, and then stood. “There’s also blood on the sheets on this bed.”

“I told you he got hurt,” Sam said.

“That might explain the blood on the sheets, but not on the ropes,” Hershel snapped. And then he noticed something tied to the headboard. He lifted it with the barrel of his gun, then cursed. Women’s nylons. They were bloody, too. “What the hell?”

He moved to the closet. It was empty, as was the dresser. His heart sank as he turned to face the room.

“Someone was tied to this bed by their hands and feet,” Tullius said, as he pulled more nylons from beneath the end of the bed, then stretched them across the mattress. “Someone who wasn’t very tall.”

J.R.’s stomach rolled, imagining his little boy tied spread-eagle to this bed. Imagining the horrors he must have gone through.

Katie sobbed.

J.R. grabbed her.

“What happened here?” Katie whispered. “What happened to our baby?”

J.R. could only shake his head as Katie hid her face against his chest.

Hershel was sick to his stomach. “Lee. Get Carter in here. I want this place dusted for fingerprints and all this taken into evidence.”

Lee headed out of the room on the double.

Sam was in shock.

“I didn’t know! I swear…I had no idea.”

“Everybody out!” Hershel said.

“Come on, baby…I’ve seen enough,” J.R. said.

Katie looked up at J.R., and then started to sob harder. He put his arm around her and led her out of the trailer, but when they started down the steps, he felt her sliding out of his grasp.

“Katie!” he cried, but she didn’t hear him. She’d already fainted.

J.R. caught her before she fell, scooped her up into his arms and rushed her toward their truck.

Just as he was sliding Katie onto the seat, Mabel came running.

Hershel was already down the steps and heading for his cruiser when he saw Mabel Pryor bolt out of her trailer. At that point, he realized, he might just have himself a witness.

“Is she all right?” Mabel cried, as she reached J.R.’s truck. “I saw her fall.”

“She fainted,” J.R. said.

“It’s about your boy, isn’t it?” Mabel said. “I saw the Amber Alert. You went inside Newt’s trailer. He drives a blue truck. I heard the news. I pay attention to stuff.”

J.R. inhaled sharply and then turned to face her.

“What did you see?”

At that point, Hershel stepped into the conversation.

“J.R., I know where you’re coming from, but you have to let me do my job.”

“I’m not stopping you,” J.R. said. “But just know you’re not stopping me, either.”

At that point, they heard the truck door open.

“J.R.?”

It was Katie, pale and shaky, but climbing out.

He ran to her, and helped her down.

“Easy, honey. You could still be a little unsteady on your feet.”

“I’m sorry. I just—”

“Damn it, Katie. Do not apologize,” J.R. said. “I felt like puking up my guts and wished I could pass out. Your reaction was normal.”

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“We’re hoping Mrs. Pryor might know something about that,” J.R. said.

“Mabel?” Katie said.

“Hello, Katie. I’m real sorry about your little boy.”

“What do you know?” Katie asked. “Did you see my baby?”

Hershel sighed. “I’m asking the questions,” he muttered, then turned his attention back to Mabel.

“What do you know about Newt Collins?”

“He’s weird,” Mabel said.

“That’s not illegal,” Hershel said.

“I used to work nights, remember?”

Hershel nodded. “Newt was always roaming around town, especially at night. I saw him plenty of times when I was leaving for my midnight shift.”

J.R. felt sick, thinking of this sexual predator peeking into windows, prowling the streets of their little town looking for victims.

“Did you see Newt today?” Hershel asked.

Mabel nodded. “He loaded up his TV and microwave in the back of his truck, then piled a whole lot of garbage bags on top and took off—probably owing Sam a month’s rent.”

“What time?” Hershel asked.

“I don’t know…. A little after ten, I think.”

“Oh, God,” J.R. said. He still felt like puking, thinking of how close—how desperately close—they’d been to stopping him before he got away.

“Did you see him with a little boy?” Hershel asked.

“No,” Mabel said. “Just all those garbage bags. Oh. And that rug. At least, it looked like a rug. It was rolled up like one of Pinky’s burritos from the Get and Go. It was the only thing Newt put up front with him. Everything else was in the truck bed.”

“Bobby,” J.R. said. “That had to be Bobby!”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Hershel said.

J.R. stared at Hershel, then turned to Katie. “Get in the truck, Katie.”

She didn’t need to know why. She just headed for the truck on the run, jumped in and slammed the door shut, even as the chief was yelling, “J.R.! Wait!”

J.R. pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and kept on walking. By the time he got behind the wheel, he had Brent Macklan on the line.