Among the Missing (22 page)

"Who're you?" came a boy's voice.

"Sheriff Hodges," he answered, turning toward the window. The boy, looking out, rested his elbows on the sill. His hair was messy and he wore striped pajamas, but he looked wide awake. "Who're you?" Rusty asked.

"Sam. What do you want?"

"Is your sister here?"

"Which one?"

"Trinket."

"Are you gonna take her back to jail?"

"Nope."

"She was in jail today. They let her out."

"I know."

"You the guy she busted in the nuts?"

"I'm the guy."

The boy nodded. He seemed sympathetic. "She got my nuts, too."

"Did you get her back?"

"She ain't got none, stupid. Girls don't. They got pussies."

"Thanks for the tip."

"You didn't know that?"

"Is Trink home?" Rusty asked.

Another child appeared in the window, this one a chubby girl no older than six, whose brown hair was cut like a boy's. She wore no top.

"Hi," she said. "Who're you?"

"I'm the sheriff."

"I'm Lena."

"Hi, Lena."

"Hi." She frowned. "You're old."

"Thanks."

"Go to bed," the boy told her.

"You go to bed."

He shoved her away from the window. Her small fist swept past his face, barely missing. The boy's fist caught her hard on the shoulder with a sound like a hammer striking beef. For a moment, she was silent. Then she spread her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut and wailed.

"Shut up, damn it, or I'll sock you again."

Fear sharpened her cry.

"Leave her alone," Rusty said, seeing the boy make another fist.

"What the fuck's going on?" yelled a man from somewhere inside the house. At that moment, a baby's cries joined those of Lena.

A voice Rusty recognized as Mrs. Blake White's said, "Goddamn it!"

Behind the boy and girl in the window, a light came on. Lena stopped crying.

"Sam hit me, Pa."

"She hit me first."

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

Rusty moved in front of the window in time to see the hairy man in boxer shorts grab Lena's arm and jerk her across the room. She stumbled and resumed crying. The man grabbed Sam by the arm, dragged him away from the window, and cuffed his face. "Get in bed, both of ya!"

"Mr. White!"

He spun around. "Who's that?"

"Sheriff Hodges." Rusty stepped closer to the window until he was standing in the light from the room.

"What the fuck you doin' out there?"

"I came to see you about Trinket."

"She's not here. See?" He pointed to the upper bunk bed. "Not here. Bed's empty. Go bother somebody else."

"I'd like a talk with you."

"Who you talking to?" came the raspy voice of Mrs. White. She entered the bedroom, waddling on her thick legs, her huge breasts swinging inside a sheer pink nightgown.

"It's your buddy the goddamn sheriff."

"No shit?" She grinned, ducked to see him better, and waved. "Hey there, law man."

"I'd like to talk with you," he said. "Both of you."

"Sure. I'll get the door. Come on, Biff."

Rusty stepped sideways to the front door. He heard Biff warn the children to stay in bed and shut up. Then the door opened.

"Come right on in. Get you a beer?"

"No, thanks."

"Tell him what he wants, Lida," the man called. "Leave me out. I need my sleep."

"Okay?" she asked Rusty.

"I guess I won't need him."

"He don't know doodle-squat, anyways." She headed for the couch. "Take a seat for yourself," she said. She dropped to the couch and patted the cushion next to her.

Rusty turned a rocker to face the woman, and sat down on it.

"So, now, law man, you're back." She lay an arm across the back of the couch. "Sure I can't get you a cold one?"

"Thanks, but it'd probably put me to sleep."

"You been up all day?"

"Since about six this morning."

She yawned and patted her gaping mouth. "Makes me tired just hearing."

"I came about Trink."

"Figured that. You should've kept her jailed where she belongs."

"Couldn't do that. She's a juvenile."

"She's a hell raiser. Oughta be penned up."

"What sort of drugs does she use?"

"Dope?"

"Yes."

"None I know about but weed. I took some off her, used it myself." She cackled. "Wasn't half bad. Made her so damn mad she come at me, though. I thought she'd take a bite out of me, and I just wasn't up to that, so I give up and paid her good cash money for what I used. Girl's a devil. Takes after her Pa."

"Do you know where she gets the marijuana?"

"Sure do." Eyes turned downward, Lida gently pushed at her left breast. "Did I tell you how she bit one of my lungs?"

"Yes, you did."

"Still pains me some."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Sure. Had to get me my rabies shots." She laughed, holding the old wound.

"Where does Trink get her drugs?" Rusty asked again.

"The Mason boy. Bill. He's got himself a connection."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Nawp."

"Do you know where he gets the stuff?"

"All I know is, he gets it. Him and Trink go out driving. Sometimes they'll come back here, but mostly not." Hooking a finger over the low neckline of her nightgown, she pulled downward and bared her breast. Frowning, she inspected the damage. "Leastwise the girl's got straight teeth."

Rusty studied the floor.

"They do a lot of balling, her and Bill. They'll do it on the sofa here if they figure nobody's gonna barge in. Or they'll head out into the woods. Over by the river, up on Indian Point. Anyplace they can get them some privacy, they'll park and get doped up and ball their asses off."

"Where do you think they might be now?"

"Oh, Trink won't be anyplace with Bill. They had them a fight."

"Do you know where she might be?"

"Is the pick-up out front?"

"I didn't see it."

"Must be out cruising."

"Do you . . ." Looking up, Rusty saw that the nightgown had dropped around Lida's waist. Her breasts hung like twin white loaves. He looked away from them and said, "Do you know what Trink and Bill were doing last night at the river?"

"Where 'bouts?"

"Near the Bend."

"Smoking dope and balling." She grinned. She pulled up the skirt of her nightgown and spread her legs. "How about it, law man?"

"I appreciate the offer," he said, getting out of the chair. "But it's late, we're both married, and I've got a busy night ahead of me."

"Bawsh. Never heard of a man passing up some free nooky."

"It happens."

"C'mon, now. Don't rush off. We have to make sure Trink didn't do you no permanent damage."

"I'll be fine," he said. "Thanks, though."

"Please?" Lida's eyes were suddenly sad. "Biff's such a bastard. I'll bet you know how to treat a lady."

"I really have to leave. Sorry."

At the Mason house on the north side of town, Rusty drove up a long, smoothly paved driveway. The upstairs windows of the house were dark, but a lamp in the living room's picture window was on. So was the porch light. Rusty moaned. The porch light was probably lit for a reason: probably, someone wasn't home yet.

Someone like Bill.

He pushed the doorbell button and heard chimes inside.

"Who is it?"

He recognized Bill's voice.

"Sheriff Hodges. I'd like to talk to you, Bill."

Silence.

"Bill, open the door."

"Okay, okay. Just a minute, okay?"

"Right now, please."

"Okay. Christ!" The door opened three inches before its guard chain snapped taut. Bill's face appeared in the gap. It was red, the eyes quick and nervous. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Okay, go ahead."

"Inside."

"Why?"

"It's almost one-thirty. I'm not feeling very patient. Now take off the chain and let me in."

"Look, I got company."

"Good for you. In about ten seconds, your company can watch you get arrested."

"For what?"

"Take your pick."

"Okay, okay. Christ!" He shut the door. The chain rattled. Then the door opened wide. Bill stood just inside the entrance and crossed his arms. He'd changed clothes since the last time Rusty saw him. Barefoot now, he wore a clean white T-shirt and plaid Bermuda shorts. "What do you want?"

Rusty stepped past him and entered the living room. A haze of smoke swirled in the air. He breathed its pungent odor. "Where're your parents?"

"Out."

"Looks like your company departed."

"Thanks to you."

"Anyone I know?"

"I doubt it."

Rusty pressed the back of his hand against the couch. The fabric still held body heat. He moved his hand down the length of the cushion, smiled up at Bill and said, "Cozy." Then he sat down.

"What do you want?"

"Tell me where you buy your grass."

Bill made a nervous gasp that struggled to sound like a cough.

Rusty slipped a photo from his shirt pocket and handed it to him. "That's your source. His name is Merton LeRoy."

Bill shook his head. "Don't know the guy." He reached out as if to return the photo, then dropped it.

The picture fluttered to the carpet in front of Rusty's right boot.

"Pick it up, Bill."

"You pick it up."

"I didn't drop it."

Muttering, his face red with anger, Bill bent down. As he reached for the photo, Rusty darted his boot forward and trapped Bill's hand against the carpet.

"Now, Bill, where do you buy your grass?"

"Get off my fuckin' hand!"

Rusty put some weight on his heel.

Bill cringed. "Cocksucker!"

"Where do you buy your grass?"

"I'm not telling!"

"No?" He applied more weight and Bill cried out. "How about it, champ?"

"He'll kill me!"

"Who will?"

"Him! Merton!"

"He won't kill you. He'll be in prison."

"Motherfuckin' asshole!"

"Where do you make your buys from him?"

"Get off my hand!"

Rusty twisted his boot. Bill's face puckered and his eyes squeezed out tears.

"Okay! Okay!"

Rusty let up the pressure. "Where do you meet him?"

"By the river. Where you found us this morning. At the roadhead. He deals out of his van."

"What happened last night?"

"Take your foot off!"

"Tell me," Rusty said and began pressing down again.

"Okay! I made a buy from him."

"What time?"

"I don't know, midnight. He gets there about eleven and stays. So, yeah, probably around midnight."

"How long does he stay?"

"Depends on the action. Till one or two, sometimes all night."

"Is he there every night?"

"Where? Sweet Meadow? Just Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays."

"So he should be there now?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Let's go see."

Chapter Forty-six

Positive ID

Pac stood at the front door of Bass's house. Though no lights showed through the front window, she pushed the doorbell button half a dozen times. Then she rapped the wood hard, making her knuckles sting.

A moist breeze chilled her bare back. It drifted the thin fabric of her dress against her buttocks and the backs of her legs.

Waiting, she remembered how Harney had been standing behind her on Ina's porch, reaching through the open sides of her gown and caressing her.

She wished she could be home with him now.

The sooner we get this over with . . .

Turning away from the door, she started down the walkway toward the street. She was nearly to her car when a sound came from somewhere behind her: a quick, low thump like a car door shutting.

A new chill scurried up her back. This one wasn't caused by the damp night air.

She opened her purse and pulled out her pistol.

Dew spattered her feet as she ran across the grass. She headed directly for the garage wall nearest the house, where moonlight made a window shine.

As she crouched next to the window, her bare shoulder touched the wall. The wet cold startled her. She rubbed her shoulder, then rose out of her crouch and peered through a low corner of the glass.

Only darkness.

But the darkness was strange.

Standing up straight, Pac leaned closer until her forehead and nose pressed the glass. At the far edge of the window, she saw a vertical, broken thread of light.

Someone, she realized, must've covered the inside of the window with a sheet of opaque material, maybe cardboard.

Someone who wanted privacy.

Pac stepped away from the window. She looked down the wall toward the back of the garage and saw a door. Leaving her purse on the ground near the wall, she walked silently to the door.

She tried to turn the knob, but it didn't move.

She knocked gently on the door.

"Bass? Bass, are you in there?"

"Is that you, Pac?"

"Yeah. Let me in, would you?"

"Sure. Just a second."

She heard water come on, thumping into a metal basin.

For a moment, it seemed strange that Bass should have a washbasin inside his garage. Then she remembered his boasting about it last year. He'd had it installed, along with a garbage disposal, so he could clean his fish without bringing them into the house. "That's what you need," she had kidded Harney, who rarely returned from fishing trips with more than a sunburn.

As the door started to open, she lowered her pistol. Not wanting to give Bass a fright, she held it out of sight behind her back.

He saw her, smiled, and flicked off the garage light. "You got me fair and square," he said, using a tough-guy voice Pac recognized as his mediocre Bogart impression.

"I guess you're all right," she said.

"I haven't been abducted or murdered. Not yet."

She backed away as Bass stepped out of the garage and shut the door. "Nice outfit," he said. "Harn buy that for you?"

"I bought it for Harney."

"Shall we go into the house where we can throw some light on the subject?"