by A. J. Thomas
She chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head.
“In this case,” Christopher went on carefully, “we believe the man responsible no longer had any children in his immediate family, so he targeted kids who were outcasts, all to prey on their need for emotional attachment and to cast more doubt on their claims if they did say something.”
“So, you think he did attack a child in his own family?” she choked.
“His criminal history indicates that he did.”
“Is he still out there?” she whispered, shifting so she could see the front door.
“No. He is no longer on the streets. Nevertheless, the Baker County Sheriff’s Department and the FBI are going to continue trying to find anyone who might have been among his victims. It’s a challenge, though.”
“The old maintenance man at Mission Mountains…,” she whispered. “People used to talk about him being a bit off.”
She caught sight of one of the few other customers in the café, picked up her coffeepot, and hurried away. She came back again a few minutes later. “I went to school with a girl you should talk to,” she whispered. “Except, I don’t know how you’d find her. I remember her name was Melody, and some of the things she talked about…. You should try and find her.”
“You don’t know her last name, by any chance?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t remember. We were fourteen when she was taken to a foster home in Kalispell.”
“Kalispell? That’s hours away.”
She shrugged. “Melody was raised by her aunt and uncle, but she got mean and violent with her cousins. At least, that’s what everybody said.”
Christopher dug out a pen and wrote the name on his napkin. “I’ll see what we can do,” he promised. “I’m Christopher, by the way. Christopher Hayes.”
“Vanessa.” She shook his hand, then took her coffeepot back around to check on the full tables.
When he left, he walked back to the park where he had run on Monday. The playground was empty. So were the baseball field and the basketball court. No one was on the sidewalks, either. The park, and the entire town, felt empty. Despite Doug’s efforts and the FBI’s refusal to get chatty, the people of Elkin had learned something was wrong. They were worried enough to keep their children safe at home on a Sunday afternoon.
He wandered around the park until nearly two, when he got a text message from Doug saying no one had managed to find the kid yet, or the truck. Even the sheriff’s attempt to talk to Reverend Liedes failed—the man had disappeared the moment he finished his morning service, leaving a note on the reader board that the afternoon service was cancelled.
He drove back to his hotel room, paid for another week, then got changed and went for a run. He needed a long run to clear his head. He didn’t want to start speculating about the fact that the entire sheriff’s department and a team of federal agents had all failed to find Micah Donovan, and that their only suspect was also missing. If he let his mind mull over the coincidence, he would have to own up to the fact that he hadn’t thought about looking for the boy in time. While he had been distracted with Doug on Friday and Saturday, Micah Donovan could have been murdered.
Christopher was already pulling his shoes on when Doug knocked on his hotel-room door at six the next morning.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to call last night,” Doug said. “I figured coffee and breakfast would be on your agenda, so….” He held up a paper bag and a drink tray with two steaming white cups of coffee.
“There’s a Starbucks here!” Christopher shouted, ripping the proffered cup out of the drink tray.
“There’s one on the reservation. I brought bagels and jam too.”
Christopher savored the first sip of smoky coffee, then grabbed Doug by the arm and pulled him inside. “What happened last night? Did you find him? Any sign of Liedes?” As soon as the door shut behind Doug, Christopher grabbed the bag out of his hands and began to dig out bagels. “Did you get any cream cheese?” he asked, knowing it was probably hopeless. Then he saw the single foil packet beneath the half-dozen condiment-sized packets of jam. “Thank you!”
“We didn’t find Micah or Liedes. His secretary said he had to go to a doctor’s appointment in Helena and that he won’t be back until Wednesday.”
“A doctor’s appointment on the other side of the state?” Christopher snorted. “That’s likely.”
“Actually, it is likely.” Doug grabbed a bagel too. “His appointment is at Ft. Harrison. It’s the nearest veteran’s hospital. It’s the only one in the state.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. That’s just what the secretary said.”
“No, I mean you have one VA hospital for the entire state?”
Doug mumbled an affirmative while he tried to open a jam packet with his teeth. “This is Montana,” he reminded Christopher. “We have a grand total of four people per square mile.”
Christopher needed a minute to process that. He worked in a city that managed to cram six million people into sixty square miles. That anyone could survive in this state meant there had to be one or two pockets of civilization surrounded by nothing but empty space. “That makes getting lost around here seem kind of scary.”
Doug rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing scary about having to rely on yourself.”
“Unless you’ve never had to before,” Christopher argued. “I think I might have to stick to the treadmill from now on. It took me about an hour to find my way back to the highway last night.”
“You got lost running?”
Christopher shrugged. “The area looks different at night. I found my way back eventually.”
Doug chuckled at him and finished his bagel. Christopher ate fast, drained his coffee with a grateful sigh, and stared at Doug. His hair was still wet from a shower, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Christopher couldn’t stop himself from cupping Doug’s cheek and grazing his thumb over Doug’s dark whiskers. “Do you want help looking for him?”
“I’ve got help,” Doug complained. Christopher felt Doug wrap his arm around his waist and pull him close. “Sheriff Brubaker has decided he is riding with me for this shift. Apparently Micah’s grandma said he told her he was going to spend the weekend camping, so we’re calling up reserve officers and searching all of the big campgrounds between here and Libby.”
“Sorry.”
Doug shrugged. “This is a really, really bad idea….”
“I know. I keep distracting you. Hell, if we hadn’t spent the weekend fucking around, I might have realized we put that kid in danger on Thursday night. It’s been bugging me.”
Doug shifted away from him, his mouth open. “No.”
“No?” Christopher laughed. “You just said this was a bad idea.”
“I meant kissing you right now is a bad idea,” Doug explained. “I missed you last night. I didn’t get home until midnight, but you were all I could think about.”
“Exactly. This is a distraction. That’s why it’s a bad idea,” Christopher pointed out.
When Doug pulled Christopher against him, his resolve disintegrated. He felt Doug’s hands roam up over his hips and back.
“You’re right about distracting me,” Doug whispered against Christopher’s lips. “Calling this off now would just make it worse. I was miserable and couldn’t think of anything except you last night, and it had only been a day. If you really want to help me focus, you should just stay out at my place while you’re here.”
Christopher swallowed and tried to think. “Stay? With you?”
“Yeah. If I can see you, if I can touch you….” Doug ran his fingers down his back, making him moan. “I’ll be able to focus again.”
Doug ran his fingers up to Christopher’s shoulder and hovered over the knot of spasming muscle beneath the scar tissue. Christopher hissed and leaned against Doug, shying away from the slight pressure. “What if I bribe you? I can try a massage to get that muscle to relax.”
“Did you just ask me to stay with you?”
“Open your eyes,” Doug whispered. Christopher did. “I really like you.” Doug kissed him again. “I think better when you’re around.”
“If you’re really less distracted when I’m around….”
“I really want you around.”
Christopher bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from getting giddy. “I guess it’s not that nice of a hotel anyway.”
“It’s really not. You drink coffee to calm down, don’t you?” Doug asked, regarding him with open accusation in his eyes.
“Hmm?”
“You were twitching when I got here. A cup of french roast and suddenly you’re capable of standing still.”
“It’s just that it’s warm,” Christopher told him. He tried to shift away from Doug’s arms, but the other man held him tight.
“Liar. You have ADD. You use coffee like Ritalin. Finish mine too, if you want.”
“You sure? I really do love their coffee. And, for the record, I have never been diagnosed with ADD. I could never sit still long enough to get through the list of questions.”
“It’s fine. If you want to stay at my place, I’ll even buy some Starbucks ground coffee for you.”
“Starbucks and a massage? Damn. Bribery will get you everywhere,” Christopher assured him. “Did you get in touch with Belkamp?”
“No. I guess he wasn’t even in town yesterday. Some of the FBI guys I did talk to said it can take weeks for DNA samples to be analyzed.”
“There were DNA samples on the discs?” Christopher’s eyes went wide.
“I don’t know. That’s just what they said. I’m kind of hoping Belkamp or Shaffer will show up today. If not, well, there’s always trying to find one random camper in one of a hundred and fifty potential campgrounds within a few hours of Elkin.”
“At least it’s something to do,” Christopher said, smiling. “If you need a break from driving through the woods, I might have an ID on another victim,” he said. “A girl named Melody. She’d be about twenty now. No last name, and she was sent to a foster home in another town at fourteen, but it might be worth trying to find her.”
“Do you know what town?”
“Vanessa said Kalispell. Why are Elkin’s kids sent to foster homes in other towns? I know it’s small, but it’s not that small.”
“I’ve never heard of foster kids being sent out of town. Maybe they had family or something in the town they were sent to. I can ask Sergeant Daniels. His wife is the director of the county child and family services office. Who is Vanessa?”
“She’s a waitress down at the Center Street Café. She’s sweet. I’m sure I can find Melody’s last name, if you’d like. I’ve got to go into town and sign some forms I missed for the coroner, and then take them to the funeral home so they can release Peter’s ashes on Saturday.”
“Has he already been cremated?”
“Last Friday.”
Doug studied his face. “You didn’t want to be there?”
“No. This might surprise you, but the good memories I have of Peter aren’t that good, the bad ones are really bad.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Christopher set his forehead against Doug’s and shut his eyes. “Can we get together for lunch?”
“Like a date?”
“Not like anything,” Christopher said, echoing Doug’s invitation to dinner on Wednesday night. “A date.”
“I would love to. Buy me lunch and I’ll make you dinner? I don’t get off until seven, though.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Doug kissed him good-bye at the door and hurried away. Christopher stood there, letting the warmth of Doug’s coffee radiate through his hands. He licked his lips and smiled like an idiot when he realized he could still feel the last tingle of their kiss. He wondered what it was about Doug that turned him into such a sap.
By nine in the morning, Christopher had finished all of his paperwork with the coroner’s office and paid the funeral home to host Peter’s service on the following Saturday. He’d even managed to check in with his lawyer, which amounted to being told that the process had started and would still take another six to eight weeks, if the arson investigation was ever finished. After that, he found the high school and introduced himself to the secretary.
He was about to ask to speak with the principal when a familiar man in a blue baseball camp walked by, noticed him, and stopped. “Big-city cop,” he said, pointing at him. “You can sure as hell run. I’m Chuck Peterson. I coach.”
“What sport?” asked Christopher.
“Everything. Well, not everything. I don’t coach the all-girl sports or cheerleading. It’s damn near impossible to get teachers to come up here, so we’re always short-staffed, even when we’re just running two summer school classes.”
“I’m Detective Christopher Hayes. Was that your little league team at the park? I saw you there.”
“Yeah,” the coach told him with obvious pride. “There’s a good bunch. Most of them have been playing since they were four. Do you have a kid starting here?”
“No. I’m here in a professional capacity.”
“But you don’t work in Elkin,” the coach said carefully.
“No, I don’t. I’m investigating the activities of a registered sex offender from California,” his brain supplied quickly. It was true enough. “You know, the FBI thing,” he added.
“Is that what all the fuss has been about? That’s grim, someone like that living in our town all these years. What can we do for you?”
“I’m trying to track down a girl who might have been abused by the subject of our investigation,” said Christopher. “She would have been here about six years ago, goes by the name of Melody. I’m told she went to a foster home in Kalispell during her freshman year.”
“I think I remember hearing about her. I don’t recall her from gym, though. And like I said, I don’t coach girls’ sports. Give me a few minutes.”
Soon the small office was filled with two secretaries, several teachers, the high school guidance counselor, the principal, and a guidance counselor from the middle school down the street. When he explained the patterns he was looking for, the staff was quick to come up with a list of students they’d had over the years who didn’t fit in, got into trouble with the law at an early age, and displayed violent or sexual behavior in no way appropriate for their age. Melody Nolan was on the list.
“Were any of these other kids in and out of foster homes?” Christopher asked, scanning the list of names.
“A few,” the middle school guidance counselor said. He pointed out ten names.
“Was Melody the only one who was sent to a foster home out of town?”
The counselor shook his head. “All but two went to other counties. Like you said, she went to Kalispell.” He pointed to another name on the list. “Missoula,” he said, then pointed to others. “Seeley Lake… Big Fork… Lolo….” With the high school guidance counselor’s help, they ended up with eight children who had been sent to foster homes outside of Baker County.
Christopher had the secretaries help him find years of birth for each child, so he would know how old they were now. When he examined the list again, his brain saw the pattern before he even did the math. He rewrote the list on a new sheet of paper, this time ordered by their years of birth. There were two to three years between them, and the boys outnumbered the girls three to one. The oldest would have been twenty-two. Melody Nolan was next. That meant that twelve years ago, when Peter first moved to Elkin, the first potential victim would have been ten years old.
“Most of these eight went to out-of-town foster homes bet
ween thirteen and fourteen, didn’t they?” Christopher asked.
“That’s right. It’s a hard enough age for kids who don’t have problems at home.”
“I’ve got to go talk to Detective Heavy Runner.” He jumped to his feet with the list. “Thank you all. This is the best starting point we could have hoped for. If you think of any other children we should interview, please give us a call. Detective Douglas Heavy Runner is coordinating the investigation for Baker County.”
“Sure. Can’t you at least tell us who you’re after? A lot of our parents are worried. It’d be nice to have something to tell them.”
Christopher didn’t want to be a hardass. These people had trusted him with privileged information, and he didn’t want to clam up and tell them he couldn’t talk about it after they’d done so much to help. He didn’t want to make them worry without solid evidence, either. He settled for abbreviating the truth. “We’re waiting to hear back from the FBI crime lab. Until then, we’re still in the dark.”
From the grim expressions around the room, he knew that wasn’t enough.
“You’ve got classes in session?”
“Just remedial classes,” the principal told him.
“It wouldn’t hurt to be more careful than usual. Watch younger kids, especially kids who might not have parents picking them up after school. If you do see any suspicious activity, even among parents or individuals you might know and respect, don’t hesitate to report it to the sheriff’s office.”
“People we know? Someone here in Elkin?”
“I hope not,” said Christopher morosely.
When he got outside, he checked his messages and found that Doug had already sent him a text saying he was going to be late.