Paul Doiron - Bad Little Falls

“I wasn’t going to read anything,” I said.

He eyed me with mistrust as he settled back in the chair. “What happened to Prester anyhow?”

“He got lost in the blizzard. He was very lucky to find help when he did.”

“What about Randall?”

“Randall Cates?”

“Him and Prester said they was going to hunt coyotes. Not last night, but the night before. Then they didn’t come home. Ma was pissed.”

“Did they say where they were going hunting?”

“Nah, but that was just a lie anyhow. Randall was going to sell drugs, like usual.”

I’d begun to wonder if Lucas was older than I’d first guessed. He stared at me through those thick glasses of his with such obvious intelligence. “How do you know that Randall Cates was dealing drugs, Lucas?”

He gave me a broad smile. “I’m a detective.”

The automatic door opened across the room. It was Jamie Sewall and the anorexic male nurse we’d met earlier. She shuffled along uneasily until she caught sight of her son. Then she stopped, took a deep breath, as if trying to collect herself for the boy’s sake. But her smile wasn’t fooling anybody.

“What do you know, Edgar Allan Poe?” she said to Lucas. “I see you met the warden.”

“We were just getting acquainted,” I said.

Without a word of reply, the boy flipped open his notebook and began writing again.

Jamie looked at me. “He does that all the time. Lucas is going to be a best-selling writer like Stephen King. Isn’t that true, Lucas?”

He raised his eyes at us and clenched his lips together, then returned to his scribbling.

“So how are you doing?” I asked.

“I need a cigarette.”

The confession disappointed me, but I was in no position to judge her bad habits. “There’s no smoking here,” I said.

She shook her head. “I don’t smoke anymore. I just meant that I’m a wreck and am craving a smoke like you wouldn’t believe.” She ran both hands through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “This place gives me the heebie-jeebies. If I sit around here, I’m going to go crazy. Maybe I should just go home. They’ve got Prester pumped full of so many chemicals, he’s not waking up till next week.”

“Did you speak with the sheriff?” I asked.

“Yeah, I spoke with that sheriff,” she said sharply. “I don’t understand what the problem is. Prester’s the one who’s injured, and you’re all acting like he’s some sort of dangerous criminal.”

I realized that the boy was watching us closely.

“The police are just trying to determine what happened in the woods.”

“I guess that makes sense.” She was fidgeting, swaying back and forth. She reached for her son’s orange vest. “This place is going to make me crazy. Come on, Lucas. Tammi’s probably worried sick.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be OK?” I asked.

She looked hard into my eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

That was my signal to give them some distance, so I did. I stepped back and watched them bundle up against the cold. As they left the room, the boy looked back at me over his shoulder. Then his mother gave his arm a gentle pull, and they were gone.

It had been ages since I thought of that period in my own childhood: between the time my mom left my dad and the time she married Neil. We’d been so poor. My mother had waitressed in a rough bar down on the Portland waterfront and worked as a temp in offices, hoping to meet a rich lawyer. And, what do you know, she actually did.

I decided to return to the med-surg unit. When I got there, Sheriff Rhine was on her way out. “Where’s Little Miss Hot Pants?” she asked.

“She took her son and went home.”

“That one is a piece of work. She knows exactly what her brother and boyfriend were up to in the Heath, but she’ll never cop to it.”

“She told me that she and Cates broke up last year.”

“Really? What kind of conversation did you two have, anyway? Somehow she seemed to sense that Randall was no longer among the living.”

I tried to keep the guilt from showing on my face. “She stuck me as a perceptive young woman.”

“Perceptive young women don’t climb into bed with drug dealers.”

“She seems like she’s trying to get her act together,” I said.

“If so, that’s a news to me,” said the sheriff. “I just spoke with one of my deputies, and he said he’d been at her house a few times last year, mediating various nocturnal disputes.”

“So what happens now?”

“As soon as my deputy gets here, I’m going back to the jail. The state police detectives are going to want a statement from you. If you want some motherly advice, I’d suggest you get some sleep. You look like hell.”

I had no doubt she was right about my appearance. The adrenaline that had carried me through the night had evaporated from my bloodstream. I would need to dose myself with caffeine just to drive home.

I said good-bye to Sheriff Rhine and then stopped in the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. I decided to call Rivard from my truck and see what was new, but as I left the Skylight Cafe, I came across an unexpected sight.

Lucas Sewall was waiting outside the admittance desk, and I knew at once that the person he was waiting for was me.

“Mister, can you help my ma?” he asked.

“Sure, Lucas. What’s wrong?”

“We’re locked out of the van.” And then he spun around and marched back through the automatic doors and across the parking lot. Puzzled, I followed him.

Jamie was bent over, looking at the snowy asphalt around a gray Toyota Sienna. A cold wind was ruffling the hair around her face.

“Did you lose something?” I asked.

“I can’t find the goddamned key,” she said.

“Did you check inside the hospital?”

“Yes, we checked inside the hospital,” she said, her voice rising. “We checked inside the waiting room and inside the med-surg unit and inside the ladies’ room. We checked all over the goddamned parking lot.”

“Take it easy,” I said.

Lucas watched his mother. He was silent, but he seemed to grow more visibly distraught as Jamie lost her composure. The boy had his notebook tucked inside his orange vest. I saw the yellow corner protruding from the collar. He wrapped his arms across his chest to hold it in place.

“We just want to go home,” she said. “We’re cold and tired, and we just want to go home.”

“I’ll help you look,” I said.

But the keys were nowhere to be found. Finally Jamie Sewall began to sob again, and I felt a compulsion to console her. “How about I give you a lift home, Miss Sewall?”

“No, thanks.”

“It’s no trouble,” I said. “I’m off duty anyway.”

Jamie looked at Lucas. The boy made a show of shivering, but it was a poor acting job on his part.

“OK,” she said hoarsely.

I had to completely rearrange the contents of my patrol truck to make room for passengers. I removed the laptop computer mounted on its adjustable arm in the center console and zipped it into my briefcase, then moved a bunch of extra blankets and a toolbox in which I kept my evidence-collection kit. Somehow I found room for Lucas in the backseat.

His mother sat quietly beside me, looking out the window at the shining landscape. I felt self-conscious. The inside of my truck smelled of stale coffee. I started the engine and idled to the edge of the parking lot.

“So where am I going?” I asked.

“Whitney,” she said without meeting my eyes. “The Machias Road. I’ll tell you where.”

And with that, she fell silent again. She started to chew on a bothersome cuticle. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Lucas was writing in his notebook again.

How could such a bright and alluring woman get involved with a tattooed creep like Randall Cates? Best-case scenario: She was a former addict with lousy taste in men but had sobered up and was seeking to repair her life. Worst-case scenario: She was a pretty little liar who was about five minutes away from a relapse.