“You are not going alone.” Chas’s voice clearly said the subject was not open for discussion. “We’ll head down to the junkyard. That’s where kids like them tend to hang out during the day. We’ll call you later,” he said to Trace and led her through the police station.
“You’re bossy and overbearing,” Roxy snapped as they walked outside into the late afternoon sunshine. She shielded her eyes and glared up at him.
“That’s part of what makes me such a good cop.” He grinned back at her and pushed the key pad of his key ring to unlock the truck doors.
The ride to the junkyard took fifteen minutes. The large, musty area designated for old cars and their parts, lay just on the edge of town, on the other side of a large wooded area, near the highway entrance. Roxy vaguely remembered hanging out here as a teenager. And Trace was right, the kind of kids that frequented this area were not the best friends a person could have.
There was a small shack at the entrance to the yard, but no one was inside. On the door was a sign that read, be back later.
“Who runs the yard?” Roxy asked curiously. The writing on the sign looked like that of a kindergartner.
“Used to be Wally Townsend. Remember him?” Chas steered his truck through the dirt, stirring up dust and smoke as he went.
“Vaguely. Bald and a bad temper. What happened to him?”
“Met with an untimely death a few years back. Heap of junk crushed him to death. There’s not a lot of organization around here. Abel Flannigan bought the place and supposedly runs it now.” Pulling the vehicle to a stop, Chas cut the engine. “A couple of his brothers took over the daily operations but neither of them gives a rat’s ass about it. That be back later sign has been on the door for two years. The city council has attempted to shut the place down numerous times but they haven’t managed to get the proper paperwork done yet.”
“In other words, these kids hang out here unattended and do God knows what all day and all night long.”
“Not entirely. We have patrols that come out here. But we are just a substation. That limits the amount of manpower available to babysit.”
Roxy climbed out of the truck and let her feet slip to the dusty ground. The scent in the air was old, stale. It was familiar at the same time and she felt like gagging. This place had been part of a time in her life that she’d been trying to forget.
“I take it you’ve been here before.” Chas stepped up behind her.
“I already told you what kind of teenager I was. That being said, when I spent time here, it was on the outskirts, not in the midst of hell.”
He chuckled at that. “Well, then follow me. You’re in for a treat.” Chas headed toward the back of the junkyard, slapping at overgrown grass and weeds along the way. It took twenty minutes or so for them to reach a large building that looked like it had been a workshop at one time. Like the shack, it was rundown, with several broken windows and a hole where a door had once been. Without pausing, Chas stepped through the hole and into the waiting darkness. Roxy followed, but at a much slower pace. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, and when they did, she saw several teenagers scampering this and that way, anxious to put cigarettes out and hide what she assumed were bottles of alcohol under whatever was handy.
“Daniel Dewitt, nice to see you,” Chas’s voice said sarcastically as he continued to block the doorway, the only way of escape for the kids. “How’s your dad?”
A tall boy with brown hair and round, dark eyes stared at Chas nervously. The kid was probably fifteen or sixteen. “He’s fine, sir.”
“Sir?” Another boy who sat on a crate not far from Danny snickered. This kid looked a little older, maybe seventeen.
“How’s it going, Elwood?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed and then he smirked, a cigarette still hanging from between his teeth. “We ain’t doing anything, sir.”
Roxy studied the boy. Elwood. This was obviously the infamous Woody McClean. She could see why he went by Woody. Elwood wasn’t the hippest name on the planet. Of course he wasn’t really hip either. His greasy hair hung far past his shoulders in slick tufts. His eyes were rather cold as they assessed first Chas, and then Roxy. He let out a whistle, then smiled halfway. “Nice. New girl?”
“Where’s Dylan Tavish?” The question was simple and to the point. Chas wasn’t beating around the bush and Roxy was glad for that. The more she looked around this place, the more she wanted to leave.
“How the hell should I know?” Woody answered, snickering again. “Little bastard got into a heap of trouble from what I hear. He’s probably high tailing it to Canada.”
“Tommy?” Chas asked, looking to another boy. This one had the same long, scraggly hair as his friends. It was blond and in definite need of a brush. Didn’t these kids believe in hygiene?
The boy shook his head defiantly. “I haven’t seen him.”
“I know you are all friends. We need to find him.” Chas looked at Danny again.
“We haven’t seen him,” Danny reiterated quietly.
“Like we’d tell you,” a girl said from the back of the room. Roxy looked her over cautiously. She was tall for a girl, with short black hair and stark white makeup on her face. She almost looked ghostly.
“What’s that you’ve got under your arm, Tabitha?” Chas asked, indicating the black purse the girl was clutching tightly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of alcohol in there, would you? Maybe a can of beer?”
“Why, you want some?” Woody asked, grinning like an idiot.
“I just might see reason to haul you all in,” Chas said, tapping his foot impatiently. “I saw what you were dumping out earlier. And I can still smell it in the air. A minor in possession is no small charge. You know that well, don’t you, Elwood?”
“Fuck you,” was all the boy said.
Chas appeared to think that over. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “There’s always a trespassing charge I can toss in for good measure. This is private property.”
Still, he got no response.
He frowned. “I guess jail probably doesn’t scare Woody, seeing as how many times he’s been there. I imagine the rest of you aren’t real anxious to go there, am I right?” He looked from one boy to the next, and then on to Tabitha, whose ghostly expression was filled with mutiny.
“We told you we haven’t seen him,” Danny said. “Me and Tommy have hung here since this morning and he ain’t been around.”
“Who’s the broad?” Woody asked, lighting up a cigarette nonchalantly as he looked Roxy over again. “She’s cute. Not typically your type, Officer.”
“Shut up, Woody,” Tommy said sullenly. “I can’t get into trouble here. My dad warned me that if I get hauled down to the station again, he’s leaving me there.”
“Smart boy,” Chas said, folding his arms over his chest.
“I just want to find my brother,” Roxy said, finally getting the nerve to speak. “My name is Roxy Tavish. Dylan is my brother.”
“You’re lying,” Tabitha said, glaring at her. “Dylan ain’t got no sister. Just Devon.”
“I’ve been living in Seattle,” Roxy said hesitantly. “I’ve been gone a long time.”
“So why the hell are you back now?” Woody wanted to know. “The way I see it, ain’t nothing going to help Devon Tavish at this point.”
The truth in those words ate at Roxy. She took a deep breath and faced the angry teenagers again. “I just want to help my brother. He’s a twelve-year-old boy, for God’s sake.”
“He may be twelve but I bet you he’s a better survivor than you are,” Tabitha said shortly. “I don’t know where he is, but if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”
“I only want to help him.”
“Sure you do,” Tabitha said. “I’ll bet you want to help him about as much as I want to help you.”
Woody laughed at that.
“He hasn’t been around,” Danny said again, his voice quaking nervously.
“Shut the hel
l up, Daniel,” Woody said, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a wimp.”
“Fuck off,” Danny said, glaring at Woody. “I don’t need an ass kicking tonight. He knows my dad.”
“And he knows my dad and her mom and Tommy’s parents too. So fucking what. If he had anything on us, he’d already have arrested us. He just wants us to rat Dylan out.” Woody stubbed out his cigarette. “Go ahead and arrest me, Officer.”
“You call me officer one more time and I’m gonna—”
“Chas, don’t.” Roxy shook her head at him and stepped toward Woody McClean. “I want to help my brother. I can’t help him if I don’t know where he is.”
“That sounds like a personal problem to me,” Woody said, after a moment of silence. “Seems to me that if he trusted you, he would come to you on his own.”
“He probably doesn’t remember me. I told you I’ve been gone a long time.”
Woody thought that over. Then he stood up and stepped toward her. She did her best to tamp down on her fear. In a way, Woody McClean was scarier than Devon had been. He was full of hate and anger and rebellion. He made her think of a ticking time bomb.
“You know, you’re awful pretty. Maybe we can work out a deal or something.” He reached toward her face, all the while, his eyes never leaving Chas’s. Before his fingers could reach her skin, Chas’s hand intercepted them and twisted them away from her abruptly.
“Don’t screw with me, Woody. I can get real cranky when I get frustrated.”
Woody just laughed, no sign of fear in his features at all. The kid couldn’t care less that he was messing with a police officer. He obviously didn’t fear jail or consequences from his parents.
“Look we haven’t done anything wrong. We don’t know where Dylan is. We haven’t seen him in days.” Danny ignored the look Tabitha shot at him. “Last I heard, he was with a family in the city.”
“He took off last night,” Roxy said quietly, though she held her ground. Woody was still directly in front of her and his eyes were perusing her with interest. He made her want to squirm.
“No wonder. Those fucking foster parents are for shit,” Tabitha said, rolling her eyes. “Social workers give anyone a chance to take a kid off their hands. Perverts are no exception.”
“What are you talking about?” Roxy asked, her stomach sinking.
“She’s talking about the nasty pigs that sign up to be foster parents. A lot of them are looking for some helpless little boy like Dylan. Kids like that are easy prey.” Woody laughed out loud. “You’re classic. Just like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. You have on rose colored glasses or something?”
“Shut up, Woody,” Tommy said again.
“Did Dylan tell you someone hurt him?” Roxy asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. “Is that why he ran away? Because I can help him. I just need to know where he is. I won’t send him back there.”
“Won’t you?” Tabitha asked. “What about when he smokes or drinks or gets into a fight? What about when he flunks out of the seventh grade?”
Roxy felt her stomach plummet.
“That’s what I thought.” Tabitha looked up at Chas. “Can you either arrest me or let me go? I gotta check in with my old lady.”
Chas was quiet a moment, then he stepped away from the doorway. Roxy saw the look of disgust on his face. And the look of disappointment. It was obvious that he’d been right. These kids stuck together. If they knew where Dylan was hiding, they weren’t about to rat him out. “Stay out of trouble, Tabitha.”
“Like your pure as gold sister? Sure thing.” Tabitha tossed him a sarcastic grin as she sauntered out of the workshop.
The other two boys followed, leaving only Woody McClean behind. He speared Chas with a bored scowl. “Arrest me or get the hell out of here.”
“I’ll be back,” Chas said finally, tugging on Roxy’s arm. “You’d better be real careful what you do, Woody.”
“I’m shaking,” the teenager said, and turned his back.
Roxy followed Chas outside, her heart sinking.
“I told you they wouldn’t be of any help.”
She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes scanning the perimeter of the junkyard. “He could be anywhere, Chas. He could be hurt.”
Chas sighed. “Listen, Roxy, your brother is a survivor. If I know anything about him, I know that. Devon’s taught him well.” He gestured for her to follow him toward his truck. “I don’t want to upset you again, but I know for a fact that your aunt had a hard time controlling the boys when she was alive. They spent a lot of time down here with Woody and The Creepers, as I like to call them. Dylan’s used to surviving outdoors.”
She could only pray he was right.
NINE
Tabitha Kennings headed through the weeds, her backpack hanging loosely on her shoulder. Being fourteen sucked, she thought to herself. You were too old for anyone to find you cute anymore and too young to have anyone take you seriously.
Over time, she’d gotten used to the fact that her mother worked like a dog simply so she and Tabby could just get by. Tabitha’s father hadn’t had a lick of ambition or work ethic and the minute he’d found out his girlfriend was pregnant, he’d high-tailed it for greener pastures. He’d never come back.
Tabitha told herself she didn’t care about her louse of a father. He was likely a loser, just the same as all of Loretta’s other men. And there had been a lot of them.
This was one reason Tabitha spent as much time away from home as she could. She preferred hiding out in a junkyard, to socializing with her mother’s beau. She was able to avoid uncomfortable confrontations that way. More than once, Abel Flannigan had forced himself on her. The minute her mother turned her back, going out for a pack of smokes or a six-pack of beer, Abel turned into a monster. He’d warned her about telling. He’d threatened her on more than one occasion. Her answer to the problem was to simply stay away from him.
Devon had understood her. He’d helped her by staying with her at night. They’d hidden out in the old workshop at the junkyard. Most of the time Woody was there. He treated her okay too. He could be a mean sonofabitch, but when he considered you his friend, he wasn’t afraid to go out on a limb for you.
Tabitha hadn’t been home in two days now. She’d called her mother and told her she was spending a couple of nights at a friend’s. Her mother had questioned her only minimally, and ordered her home tonight. There was no avoiding it. Tabby probably would have stayed crashed out at the workshop again, had Chas McCall not shown up.
The cops regularly cased the junkyard. It was well known around Cavern Creek that the place was a popular hang-out for high school kids. For the most part, unless the cops had time on their hands to burn, they left the kids alone.
Dylan Tavish had become big news. His face was all over the television and newspapers. He was basically a fugitive now.
Tabitha felt bad for the kid. She knew that what had happened to his aunt had messed him up real bad. Devon had always told her that his aunt was a good lady—a nice person. But yet she was clueless, he always said. She was a dreamer. The world was not the way she thought it was. It was a cruel place and she just didn’t let herself see it for what it was.
Shivering, Tabitha blew at the bangs that flopped into her eyes. It was getting late now and the sun was almost gone. She should have started for home earlier. She made a point of never being in the wheat fields after dark. It was a scary place, with crops as far as the eye could see.
The wind sang a slight whistle and she began to get the distinct feeling she was being watched.
Turning her head, she continued walking, though she carefully perused the space around her. Nothing but wheat swaying back and forth. Nothing but the rustling of the leaves and the sound of the breeze.
For some reason those innocent sounds seemed eerie. She picked up her pace, nearly to the edge of the fields, now almost at a run.
Within moments, she felt his presence, rather than saw him. His arm snaked around her from behind and
before she could scream, he wrapped the strap of her backpack around her neck and squeezed. She clawed, struggled to scream, kicked her feet.
“Quiet, Tabby. I didn’t want to have to do this, but I have no choice.” His voice tore through her head and fear became her undoing. He began to drag her backwards, back into the field and back into the darkness. A moment later, she blacked out.
The drive back to the police station was quick. It was nearly dark now, and in spite of her worry over Dylan’s disappearance, Roxy felt fatigue setting in. The stress of her situation was getting to her. She had two teenage boys to be responsible for, one of whom was being charged with murder, and one of whom was missing. Rubbing her temples was not helping her come to any mind blowing solutions.
“Once it gets completely dark, our chances of finding him are slim to none,” Chas said quietly, from beside her. He pulled the truck into a parking spot in front of the police station and turned off the engine.
“So what now?” was all she could manage to say.
“We get you a place to stay for the night and pick up where we left off in the morning. By then maybe we’ll have more to go on.”
“So I just sit here and wait, while Dylan’s out there alone?” She clutched her purse to her chest tightly, frustration eating at her. “I can’t just sit here.”
“I honestly think he’s fine, Roxy. He doesn’t want to be found right now.”
“He’s scared.”
“Yes, he probably is. Sooner or later, he’ll run out of places to hide.”
The things the kids had said back at the junkyard seemed to fester inside of her. “Do you think they’re telling the truth? I mean about the foster parents?”
He thought that over. “The people he was placed with have taken kids in the past. They’ve always been good to them. So no, I don’t think in Dylan’s case that was the reason he left.”
She felt marginally better.
“You aren’t going to fix this in a day, Roxy. Or even a week or a month. These boys have been through a lot. It’s going to take time.”
Skeletons in the Mist (The McCall Twins) Page 8