“Nah, she doesn’t.” Kyle seemed either relieved or resigned to the idea that no one intended to send him to any sort of rehab and that he’d at least partially succeeded in trampling anyone’s expectations for him or his future. He finally reached for the bag of chips and started opening it.
“What does your mom expect of you?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, eating some chips with his mouth partly open. A tiny piece settled on his lower lip and clung. “Not much.”
“Come on,” I said. “I’ve met your mom. Great lady. Seems to care about you a lot. I’m pretty sure she has some hopes for you.”
I could see the statement struck Kyle because he quit crunching and froze. His face looked pale in the overhead light, and I thought I saw a faint quiver of his lower lip until he swiped his mouth and dislodged the fleck of chip.
“Your mom’s out in the waiting area, wanting to get you home.”
He nodded, looked down, and started eating again. There was pain here. I could sense it. He might be rebelling against his mom, but he also ached on some level for hurting her.
“So, Kyle, why don’t you help us out a bit here so that we can get you back home again. Ease your mom’s mind.” I wasn’t sure it was time to ask about the 3DS yet but I felt like we needed to move forward. I didn’t even need to look at the glass; I could sense Ali’s impatience through it like a solar flare. “Why don’t you tell us how you got ahold of that 3DS?”
Kyle looked at me, then at Ken, trying to read us.
I kept talking. “Because here’s what I think. I have no clue how you got it, but I have a hunch that it was something a lot less sinister than what Agent Paige or Marcus might be thinking. How did you come across it, Kyle? You didn’t steal it from some kid, right?”
“No,” he said after what seemed like ages. The overhead light illuminated the crown of his head, turning some of the lighter stands of his dark hair almost the color of cinnamon. If I had rushed it, pushed him too quickly, he could recede back into his black juvenile cave as quickly as a chipmunk skittishly ducking underground. “I didn’t even see any kid.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“So where did you get it then?”
He looked to the side out of the corner of his eyes. He was avoiding telling us where he got it for some reason, and I guessed he didn’t want to rat a friend out. I’d seen that hesitant, worried look before—one that whispered, I’m not guilty, but I’m no rat. “I just found it somewhere, that’s all. There was nobody around. I just found it.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll buy that. I get that. But where? Where did you find it?”
“Why is that so important?”
“Because, Kyle, it is.” I looked at Ken and lifted my chin, my cue to him to take on the bad-cop role, and he chimed right in.
“It’s extremely important, Kyle.” Ken cleared his throat and placed his hands flat on the table. “It’s so important that you could end up in jail for obstruction of a federal investigation if you don’t give us that information.” Ken leveled his gaze on him.
Kyle hardened in response to Ken’s tone, becoming smug. “I could tell you anyplace I wanted. Send you on a wild goose chase. Say I found it by a Dumpster, by the river, on a road. . . . You’d never know the difference.”
“Oh, you’re wrong about that,” Ken added. “Dead wrong. If we found out that you were lying to us, you’d be charged for obstructing a federal investigation at the very least. That’s why you’re not going to lie to us.”
“Whoa, Officer Greeley. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here,” I chimed in. “Let’s think about this calmly. Kyle’s right. He could lie and send us all over the place, but then, well, Officer Greeley does have a point, considering the seriousness of the matter,” I said earnestly. “Think of it this way, Kyle: like we talked about earlier, it’s kind of a relief to know that your mom doesn’t have plans to send you away for rehab, right?”
Kyle didn’t respond, just wiped the grease from his lips with the back of his hand again.
“And I don’t blame you. Therapy did nothing for my brother. But I’m telling you, jail, that’s a hundred times worse than some therapeutic facility, and avoiding that, well, that’s gonna be a much bigger relief for you. Now I know you know that because you’ve been in juvie before. But you’re seventeen now, and although I don’t agree with the law, Agent Paige was right—you’ll get treated as an adult and that’s an entirely different ball game.”
Kyle considered it for a moment, looking down at the table. He’d set the bag of chips aside and his hand went back to his neck to begin twirling his hair again—a bad sign, I thought.
“Kyle,” I said. “Look at me.”
He did, his eyes like pools of blue-green water.
“Put your hand down.” I changed my tone, going out on a limb. “Stop messing with your hair.”
Kyle set his hand on the table, letting it plop down loudly, and I was surprised he listened to me. My instincts were right. He wasn’t used to a male’s directives. “You need to start by telling us where you were on Tuesday of this week. And you need to do it now.”
He thought for a second. “How did your brother turn things around?” he asked.
“He was always good at art. At drawing stuff. You like art?”
Kyle shrugged.
“Well, he liked it. Used to draw a lot when he was little. Now he has his own iron-casting shop. He designs cool railings, fireplace tools, that kind of thing. Anyway, you never know.”
Kyle nodded. “I met some friends, and we went camping.”
“Which friends?”
“Craig and Bridger. And a girl named Coral.”
“Where did you go camping?”
“Up by Hungry Horse. Near the reservoir.”
“At a campground?”
“Yeah, Lost Johnny Campground.”
“How long were you there?”
“Three nights. We slept in the back of our cars.”
“Did you do anything? Go hiking or fishing or anything? Did you leave the campground?”
“No, we hung out there the whole time.”
“At the campsite the entire time?” I didn’t bother to ask what kind of trouble they were up to—about drugs, booze, and loud music, which I imagined disrupted every other camper in the area.
He nodded.
“You never left, or had any visitors?”
“No, just the four of us.”
“Okay, so you got there on Tuesday?”
“Yes.”
“Around what time?”
“Around eleven or so. We left Kalispell early, around nine.”
“So when did you leave?”
“I told you, we stayed three nights. We left later this afternoon.”
“And you went home?”
He shook his head.
“Where did you go?”
“I stopped by my grandfather’s place.”
“And where’s that?”
“Past Hungry Horse. I needed some money—for gas. My tank was low. I figured he’d loan me enough to get home.”
“And did he?”
“Yes.”
“So he was home when you swung by?”
“No, not home, at his church.”
“Where does he go to church?”
“No, not where he goes. He’s the pastor.”
“I see. Where is it?”
“In Hungry Horse.”
“Okay, so how long did you stay there?”
“Just for a while. I found him in his office in the back, and he gave me a little cash for gas and told me my mom was worried sick and to go right to her office.”
“And that’s what you did?”
“Yeah, that’s what I did after I got s
ome gas.”
“Where did you stop for gas?”
“At the Cenex in Hungry Horse.”
“So how did you come across the 3DS?”
Kyle didn’t answer.
“Kyle,” I said sternly. Suddenly I heard my own father’s voice in mine and wasn’t sure how that made me feel, but I didn’t care to consider it then. “I’m not going to ask again.”
“On the way out, I saw it.”
“The DS?”
Kyle nodded.
“On your way out of where, the gas station?”
“No, the church. It was on one of the pews, near the middle. Near the edge by the center aisle. The place was empty. I figured some kid left it after a service and didn’t see it. Figured it must not have been that missed, if no one had come back for it, so I grabbed it. I just put it in my pocket, you know, for the time being and left.” He cocked his head to the side and pushed out his jaw in a cocky, sue-me-if-you-don’t-like-it posture.
“So let me get this straight. You found the Nintendo game at your grandfather’s church? Sitting on a pew?”
“Yeah, that’s all. It’s not like I stole it.”
“Were your friends with you?”
“No, they went home in their truck, straight from the campground. I drove separately.”
“So why did you take it?”
“Don’t know.”
“Okay, Kyle,” I said, glancing at Ken, who in turn glanced at the observation room. We both knew what Ali and Herman were doing as we wrapped up—getting Kyle’s grandfather’s information and as much as possible on his church. Soon we would be swarming around it like termites on wood, searching every inch of the place like we had at the Tuckmans. Kyle had wasted time by not giving the information earlier to Herman and Ali, because he didn’t want to get in trouble for stealing something that wasn’t his, or because he didn’t want to rat on his grandfather, but either way, Wendy’s father’s church was our next stop.
• • •
By the time we wrapped things up with Kyle, got the warrant, and drove out to Hungry Horse, dawn spread pale light across the eastern sky above the mountains as we went up on a long, paved drive to the church. Glacier Peace Church sat on a knoll on the northeast side of Hungry Horse. William “Bill” Combs was the pastor of the church, and we found him there, up early and watering some arrangements in the flower boxes on the side of the building. The lawn was well kept and the church was simple—a utilitarian building made out of wood, painted green and white. A wooden cross perched at the apex of the roof. In front there was a large sign that read GOD’S TEN COMMANDMENTS. At the bottom of the sign, under the commandments, was written, “And Be Baptized Every One of You in the Name of Jesus Christ for the Remission of Sins. Acts 2:38.”
Mr. Combs looked completely surprised when we pulled up. He wore faded jeans, tennis shoes, and a baseball cap. He seemed vaguely familiar to me, and I figured I might have seen him before with Wendy around the county building. He came over, a confused look on his face, and asked us what was going on.
“Mr. Combs,” Ali said, “we have a warrant to search this church building.”
“A warrant? What on earth for?”
“We need to ask you some questions. Is there someplace we can sit and talk?”
“We can go into my office.”
Ken and Herman immediately began looking around and directing the men who came with us to help search the entire property. Mr. Combs led Ali and me into the church, down a well-maintained oak floor, past rows of dark wooden pews with graceful curved backs, and to a side door beside the altar that led to his work area. Ali took a seat in one of the guest chairs at his oval desk. But I stayed standing, perusing the office.
“You’re up early, Mr. Combs,” Ali began. I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a remark.
Mr. Combs shut the office door behind him and took his own seat. “Yes, every day. It’s one of the perks of getting older—up like a rooster as soon as day begins to break. What brings you all out here this early?”
“We understand your grandson, Kyle, stopped by here yesterday, is that correct?”
“Yes, he did. Has he done something? Is he okay? Is he in trouble for something again?”
“No, not in trouble, and yes, he’s fine,” Ali said. “Were you here when he stopped by?”
“Yes, I was. It was in the late afternoon. He needed some money for gas.”
“When he was here, he came across something important in your church. It’s vital that we understand why that item was on your property, so vital that a judge has issued a warrant for us to thoroughly search your entire place.”
“What item?” he asked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mr. Combs, where were you on Tuesday of this week?”
“Tuesday?”
“Yes.” Ali said curtly.
“I was out of town—in Great Falls for an RMA conference on small-town pastors.”
“RMA?”
“Rural Missionary Association,” he said. “It’s a way to offer support to us rural, small-town churches that sometimes feel isolated and alone in our work. I left on Monday morning, even gave a talk in the late afternoon on bi-vocational work—how many pastors in small towns need to work more than one job. I checked into the Hampton Inn and stayed until Wednesday. I just returned on Wednesday afternoon.”
Ali glanced at me, presumably because she wanted me to take his story down so we could verify it. I took out my notebook and jotted the name of the conference down. I stood by the window, watching her question him, but also looked at his bookshelf and peered outside. I saw the county forensics van pull up. Ray and Paxton hopped out. I refocused on the shelf. Various versions of the Bible were stacked together along with many books on religious and pastoral counsel. A plaque hung on the wall beside the bookshelf. It read “On the mountain of the Lord, it will be provided. Genesis 22:14.”
“Mr. Combs,” Ali said, “what happens to the church when you’re away?”
“It’s always open during the day, for people to come in and visit me or pray or just sit if they feel the need for some peace, for a sense of God’s presence.”
“So who opens it when you’re away?”
“Reily.”
“Who is Reily?”
“Reily Terrance. He just lives down the road.”
“Is he on your payroll?”
“Yes, he helps out a fair amount, but doesn’t really have any set hours. The church pays him as needed.”
“Mr. Combs, I hope you’re telling us everything, because the life of a child is at stake.”
“A child?” he opened his eyes wide and set his palm on his heart. “What on earth was found in my church?”
We both studied him, especially Ali, her eyes narrowed in distrust. Mr. Combs sat with his mouth agape, his eyes shifting between the two of us.
“You don’t know?” I asked.
“I told you—I have no clue what you’re talking about. A child? A life at stake?”
“Mr. Combs, do you know the Tuckmans?”
“The Tuckmans?” He creased his brow. “They might attend services here, but I’m not sure. I don’t personally know anyone by that name, but we can check the registration books.”
“So you have a record of everyone who attends your church?”
“Not everyone, but lots of people. I can get the lists for you, if you’d like. Sometimes we send out emails or flyers to folks, but not everyone who attends has signed our guest logs. I can give you the names of all the regulars.”
“Yes, we’ll need that, and we’ll need a list of all your employees—names, addresses, and phone numbers.”
“I also host a soup kitchen once a month for the homeless and hungry. It’s on Thursday evenings at six. I have them sign in, so I can plan how much food we need
to prepare.”
“Okay, we’ll want that, too. And, Mr. Combs,” she said sternly, “you will need to stay on the premises and not leave until we’ve completed our search. We’ll also need access to your computer system. As far as we’re concerned, this is a crime scene.” We both watched his expression turn fearful before leaving his office.
21
* * *
Gretchen
PER’S GHOST SEEMED to breathe down my neck while I sat at work analyzing trace. I always felt his presence, or rather the heavy cloak of guilt that signified his presence to me. Lately, though, I felt as if he had manifested more distinctly, hovering around me and fogging my brain as if he had something to tell me that I couldn’t understand. I knew it was crazy, but I couldn’t shake the feeling.
After they finally got some answers out of Kyle, I went out and told Wendy that Kyle was cooperating, but didn’t have the heart, nor was I allowed to tell her that the spotlight had now shifted to her very own father and his church. Kyle could tell her what he wanted once he was released. In the meantime, I told her to go home to get some rest, but she refused, saying she wasn’t leaving the station without him. She was still somewhat angry at me, and I had to remind myself that what I only thought was a long shot turned out to be significant after all, and that I shouldn’t feel guilty about the police interrogating Kyle or her father if it helped find the boy.
I didn’t want to go home, but I knew better than to go right into the office without any sleep, so I went home to get a few hours before coming back in. By eight a.m., I found out I was officially off duty. Ridgeway said I’d worked too many hours in a row and sent Ray and Paxton to the church. He also said that I had a conflict of interest since I knew Wendy, Kyle, and her father too well. When I asked why that conflict didn’t exist for Ray, who had worked the same number of shifts as I had and was also a coworker of Wendy, he replied that Ray wasn’t as close to her as I was, nor was Paxton for that matter, and neither had ever met Wendy’s son or father before. That part was true, but the whole thing grated on me.
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