David walked down the hallway with the officer, already suspecting why he had pulled him from class. “Be cool, David—just be cool. They don’t know anything,” he told himself.
Thomas led him to a small room that the school had assigned the police to conduct the questioning. He held the door open for him. “Please come inside, David.”
David wiped his sweaty hands against his jeans. “What’s this about?”
Thomas took note of the nervous gesture, but didn’t think much about it. He would have been more surprised if the young man had not been nervous talking to police. “You may have already heard, but the department is interviewing students here about the disappearance of Jimmy Crennan.”
David shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
“Are you sure about that, David?”
David shifted in his seat and looked at the floor. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Okay,” Thomas nodded. “What about Stella Seiber? Have you ever heard of her?”
“Who?” David was genuinely surprised because he never knew the old woman’s name.
“Stella is a homeless woman who was assisting the police in a murder investigation. We need to ask her some more questions, but she seems to have disappeared, too.”
David grunted. “I don’t know any homeless people.” He shifted again in his seat and looked down at the floor.
“Look at me, David.”
David tensed at the firmness and authority in the officer’s voice. He looked up. “What? I told you I don’t know either of those people.”
“I don’t think you’re being honest with me, David.” Thomas leaned back in the chair and continued to study the boy’s nervous movements. “You see, one of our officers talked to several of Jimmy’s classmates yesterday. One of them told the officer that Jimmy hung out with some older kids for a few months. One of those older kids was you, David.”
David’s head jerked up. “Well, they’re lying. I told you that I don’t know this Crennan kid, and I sure don’t know any old, scrawny homeless woman.”
Thomas was quiet for a few moments before he sat his chair back down on four legs. “I never said anything about Stella Seiber being old and scrawny, David.”
Michael had rushed home after he left the lake house, to change clothes before heading to school. His parents had both already left for work, so he was relieved not to have to deal with them. He took a quick shower, dressed, grabbed his backpack and Crennan’s jacket—he needed to get rid of that jacket—and broke every speed limit to get to school before his first class ended.
He could not get the image of the old woman out of his head—the small hole in her forehead, her open eyes, her frail body as it rolled off the dock and sank quickly into the lake. He was grinning to himself when he ducked in a side door and tried to remember which class he was supposed to be in that morning. He was running down the hall when a door opened and David walked out. “Hey there, buddy! Man you would not believe what went down last night…”
Mike didn’t immediately connect the look of panic on David’s face—until a policeman walked out behind him.
Thomas held the door open and nodded. “I know who Kirk Blankenship is, so I’m guessing you might be…” he looked down at his pad. “Michael Bozeman?”
Michael froze and the smile on his face quickly dissipated.
“Michael Bozeman?” Thomas queried again.
Mike pulled his shoulders back and put on his best tough-guy image. “Yeah, that’s me. What’s going on?”
“I have some questions for you, Michael. Your friend here, David, has already talked to me. Haven’t you, David?”
David’s panicked expression returned when he saw Michael glare at him. He shook his head vehemently, from side to side. “I didn’t tell him anything, Mike.”
Thomas didn’t know what these two boys were hiding, but he knew they were hiding something. Maybe a trip to the police station would loosen their tongues. “I think the two of you need to come down to the precinct with me, for more questioning. Your parents do not have to be present, but I’ll be glad to contact them, if that will make you both feel more comfortable.”
“But, I already talked to you!” David replied weakly. He looked to Mike for silent affirmation of what to do.
Mike shook his head. “Naw, we don’t need our parents there; but, why can’t you just talk to us here, like they did everyone else yesterday?”
Thomas stared hard at them both and went with his instinct. “Because I think you both might know more than you’re willing to tell me here at school. Come on, boys, let’s go. I’ll drive.”
David and Mike walked in front of the officer, exited the building, and stood in the parking lot.
“I need to get something out of my truck,” Michael spoke curtly.
“Go ahead, Michael,” Thomas nodded. “We’ll walk along with you.”
Thomas and David stood at the back of the truck while Michael pretended to rummage for something inside the truck. He shoved Crennan’s jacket under the driver’s seat and began quickly removing the joints from his backpack and shoving them under the seat, too—in case the police asked to search his bag. It didn’t occur to him to just leave his bag inside the truck.
Thomas moved closer to the bed of the truck and glanced inside. He noticed small dark streaks of something that ran from the middle of the bed to the end of the tailgate; another dark smudge was on the other side of the streak. He moved around to the back of the truck and opened the tailgate, and rubbed the dark streak with his finger. It was congealed, but he knew it was blood.
“What’s this, Michael?” he asked when Mike joined them at the back of the truck.
Michael paled visibly and glanced quickly at David.
David shrugged and looked back at him, wide-eyed and fearful. He still did not know what had happened the night before.
“I went hunting over the weekend,” Mike finally answered. “Caught me a six-pointer.”
“Really?” Thomas looked at both boys. “A deer, you say?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah—it was a deer—a really big one.”
Thomas nodded back at him. “Okay. That should be easy enough for our forensics department to verify. You’ll need to hand over your keys, Michael.”
“Why?” Mike asked stubbornly. “I told you I killed a freaking deer!”
“It won’t take long to confirm that it was a deer. I’ll need your keys until the wrecker service brings your truck in for examination.”
David rubbed the back of his neck furiously. He didn’t say anything to Mike until the officer placed them both in the back seat of the police cruiser. “What happened last night?” he whispered before Thomas opened the driver’s door.
Mike looked at him and threatened, “You just keep your mouth shut about everything…”
CHAPTER 34
A Mother Knows
Jason stepped out of the shower a little after ten o’clock Tuesday morning. He looked into the mirror, at the stubble that had grown over his face—he had not shaved since Jimmy went missing last Friday. He rubbed his hands over his face and stared into the steamy mirror. “A few more days and you’ll have a full-grown beard.” His voice sounded weak, even to him. The last few days had been agony for him, so he could only imagine what impact it was all having on Cheryl. He thought she had been holding together extremely well, considering everything that was running through his own mind.
He continued to stare into the mirror and finally shook his head. He closed his eyes and looked upward. “I’m not sure if I believe in you or not, God; but, if there’s the slightest chance that you’re real, then please help us out here. Don’t let this linger. Please help Cheryl get the answers that she needs.” He shook his head and kept his eyes closed. “I just don’t understand it, God. Why would you give me a son—a family—if you only intended to snatch them away from me? Why?”
Cheryl heard his murmuring and knocked on the bathroom door. “Jason? Are you alright?”
&
nbsp; Jason opened his eyes and cleared his throat. He flushed the unused toilet, ran some water under the faucet and yelled out. “Be right there. I didn’t know you were up yet—hope I didn’t wake you.”
Cheryl leaned her head against the door. She thought that his voice sounded funny—it almost had a quiver in it that she had not heard before. “No, I barely slept again last night. I made a pot of coffee, whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he yelled back. He took several deep breaths and composed himself as best he could. He had to be strong for Cheryl. He couldn’t let her suspect how worried he was that her son—their son—had now been missing for more than seventy-two hours.
He only owned three changes of clothing, and Cheryl had washed all of them for him the night before. He looked down at his faded flannel shirt. “Well, at least you’re clean.” He rubbed his face again and cast one last look into the mirror. “I’ll shave when Jimmy comes home.”
Cheryl smiled when he walked into the kitchen. “I can fix you something to eat, if you’re hungry.”
Jason shook his head. “No, thanks, I’m good—still full from the food Max sent home with us last night. “If he wasn’t a man, I think I’d marry him for his cooking.”
Cheryl allowed a tiny laugh to escape. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to laugh. “Well, if you don’t claim him, I think I will!”
“He does cook up one mean meal, alright,” Jason grinned and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Have you ever—I don’t know how to explain it—but, have you ever felt different whenever you’re at the café?”
Cheryl cupped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle a yawn that still managed to escape. “Different?” She paused and thought for a minute. “Well, now that you mention it…yes.”
“How?” Jason pushed for more information. He was curious to see if she had ever experienced the same feelings he had whenever he was around the café or the people who worked there.
Cheryl shrugged. “I’m not sure, exactly, but…well, it’s sort of like a feeling of peace that comes over me. Whenever I’m there, I don’t have all the negative thoughts about what’s happened to Jimmy, as I do whenever I’m here at the house. Does that make sense?”
Jason sat down beside her. “Yeah, it does. There’s something else, too.”
“What?”
“Have any of them—the workers at the café—have any of them ever…touched you?”
Cheryl looked at him and grinned. “Touched me how?”
Jason closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, no—I don’t mean like that, silly. I mean, like just laying a hand on your shoulder, or holding your hand…”
“I was just teasing you,” Cheryl touched his shoulder. “To answer your question—yes—I’ve had a strange sensation whenever Bertie has hugged me, pulled me close, or held my hand. It’s a very comforting sensation, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” Jason nodded. “The effect they have is a little puzzling, don’t you think? Sometimes, I feel like I’m being—bewitched!”
“Ooohh…maybe they’re witches!” Cheryl poked fun at him.
Jason was embarrassed at bringing up the subject. “Never mind, you probably think I’m crazy.”
Cheryl took his hand into her own and stared deeply into his eyes. “Jason, you are anything but crazy. You’re right—I do think there is something very special about that café, and even something more special about Bertie, Max, and Doug.” She rubbed a finger over his high cheekbone. “But, I also think there’s something even more special about you. You have no idea what your being here with me these past few days has meant to me. It’s probably the only thing that has kept me sane and helped me to deal with the waiting.”
Jason stared back at her—her face only mere inches from his own. He sighed and leaned forward enough to allow just the slightest touch of their lips. “I’ve wanted to do that again since I kissed you in the café—to cease your talking—remember?”
“Oh, I definitely remember,” Cheryl sighed as she leaned in for another kiss. She would have enjoyed it lasting longer than it did, but the sudden ringing of her cell phone jarred them apart.
She didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway. Her blood chilled and a stinging sensation began a slow creep down her spine—even before she heard the voice on the other end.
The voice was barely a whisper. “Mom?”
Cheryl stopped breathing and paled visibly.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, alarm evident in his voice. He leaned in closer to try to listen in on the call.
“Mom? Are you there? I’m at the lake house…”
Cheryl’s mouth hung open and she had not been able to utter a single sound before she heard a loud, clunking sound, followed immediately by a dial tone.
It was almost eleven o’clock when Kirk came back inside the lake house. He had been out to the dock several times that morning, not exactly sure of what he expected to find. He, mostly, wanted to reassure himself that Stella’s body had not floated to the surface since he and Mike had pushed it into the lake. He had been having second thoughts and doubts about Mike’s previous suggestion that they should have rowed the body to the middle of the lake before dumping it.
He flopped down on the couch and turned on the television to drown out the different voices and suggestions he kept hearing inside his own head. He stopped surfing channels when a local news report caught his eye. The reporter was telling his audience about the death of a homeless man—Gordon Whiting—who had only recently been acquitted of the murder of another homeless man, by the name of Norman Weissman. Kirk listened to the end of the report and chewed at his bottom lip. If Gordon Whiting had been acquitted, did that mean the police would continue looking for Weissman’s killer? How did they know that Gordon Whiting wasn’t the killer? Had the old woman told them the truth before he had gotten the chance to pick her up? Could the police be looking for him right this minute? Was that why David and Mike had not been answering his calls this morning?
Kirk began a rapid pace around the large game room, keeping his head down and trying not to listen to the voices again. Maybe he could plead temporary insanity if they discovered that he had anything to do with Weissman’s murder. He felt confident that the old woman’s murder would never be tied to him—but, there was still one person who could connect him to the old woman. “Crennan…” How was he going to dispose of Crennan without having it come back on him and his friends?
He looked down at his clothes and saw the dried blood all over his shirt and jeans. He would have to burn them. “I need a shower,” he mumbled as he pushed open the door to the master suite. He went over to the bed to make sure Crennan was still breathing, then turned and closed the door to the master bath.
Jimmy had feigned sleep and waited several minutes until he heard the shower running. He tried to push himself to a sitting position, but collapsed against the pillows when his left shoulder betrayed him. He was sore and stiff, and the hole where the bullet went in and exited through his back burned like a forest fire. He looked around the room for the old woman, and it took several minutes before the memories of the night before came flooding back to him. His tears flowed and soaked the pillows, as he remembered that the old woman was dead—she had to be—Kirk had shot her squarely in the forehead. “Dear, God…what did he do?”
He turned his head to the left and saw Kirk’s pile of dirty clothing lying in a heap outside the bathroom door. Something black and shiny was poking out of the pants pocket. Jimmy tried to focus on the object—tried to convince himself that it really was what he thought it was—what he prayed it was. He rolled over on his right side and was able to push himself up to a sitting position. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable, and for one quick moment, he thought he was going to pass out from it, but he worked through it and began a slow slide off the bed. He grabbed his chain with his good hand before it could clunk to the floor—the motion
of that quick movement released a sharp intake of air from his lungs.
He took several short breaths as he made his way across the floor, to the pile of clothing. The closer he got to the clothes, the louder the water from the shower seemed to echo in his head. He felt safe as long as he continued to hear the sound of that running water.
When he finally made it to Kirk’s piled clothes, he stopped and leaned his head against the bathroom door. The room felt like it was spinning, and the last thing he needed to do right now was to faint. He took three more giant breaths before kneeling down and using his thumb and index finger to pull the black, shiny object—a cell phone—from Kirk’s pants. He held his chain and the cell phone in the same hand and made his way back past the bed, to the far window in the room. “Please let there be a signal,” he spoke softly and listened for the sound of the running water. He punched in his mother’s cell phone number and held his breath. She answered on the second ring.
“Mom?” He couldn’t believe she really answered—that it was really her voice he was hearing. Tears flooded his eyes.
He was so focused on hearing his mom’s voice, that he never noticed that the sound of running water had stopped.
“Mom? Are you there? I’m at the lake house…”
Kirk slammed a fist against the right side of Crennan’s head. The force of the blow knocked the younger boy hard against the wall—his left arm and shoulder taking the full impact. The cell phone flew from Jimmy’s hand, onto the wooden floor, and Kirk rushed to pick it up. He put it to his ear but didn’t hear anything, so immediately disconnected the call. He assumed that he had gotten to the phone in the nick of time, before it had a chance to connect with whomever Jimmy Crennan had attempted to call.
His hands were balled into tight fists as he stared down at Jimmy. “That was a dumb move on your part, Crennan. Now, get up,” his voice sounded calm, yet ominous. He saw that the bandage on the kid’s shoulder was once again soaked with blood. The fall must have opened up the wound again. “I said, get up.”
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