John Hart - The Last Child

“What did the ME say?”

Hunt looked from the Chief to the sheriff. Both men looked pinched, and Hunt guessed that his face bore the same expression. Memories of their last meeting still poisoned the air. “He said he wants these people out of here.”

“I’m talking about the body. What did he say about that?”

“Female. Nine to twelve years old. Time and manner of death as yet undetermined.”

“Is it Alyssa Merrimon?”

Hunt looked at the sheriff and shook his head. “This one has been in the ground for years.”

The Chief peered across the swale. Skin folded at the bottoms of his eyes pulled back to show bright pink crescents. “Six more out there. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“I wouldn’t call that lucky,” Hunt said.

The sheriff’s lips turned at the corners. “You still think you’ll find her alive?”

Hunt returned the hard stare. “Maybe.”

The sheriff said, “You’re such a Boy Scout, Hunt. I swear to God.”

“I’ve had enough of your cr-”

“That’s enough,” the Chief said. “From both of you.”

Hunt forced the tension from his frame. “You’ll let me clear these people out of here?”

The Chief nodded. “Keep whoever you need, send the rest home.”

“I don’t need anybody from the sheriff’s office.”

Hunt waited for a reaction from the sheriff. Jarvis’s house was inside the city limit, but out here, in the deep woods, they were pretty much standing on the city line. If he wanted to push a jurisdiction claim, he could. The sheriff broke first. “Perkins.” He snapped his fingers and an unfamiliar deputy crossed to his side. “Round our people up. Get them out of here.” He smiled at Hunt, rocked the hat back on his head, and spoke in a low voice. “When you fuck this up and are long gone, I’ll still be running this county.”

“Don’t count your chickens.”

Another cold smile. “Have a nice day, Detective.”

Hunt watched him go. The Chief was waiting when he turned, but his face showed none of the animosity Hunt expected. Instead, he looked deflated, troubled. He lifted the hat from his head and scrubbed the sleeve of his shirt across his forehead. He dipped his head toward the flags and spoke softly. “If those are all children…” He trailed off. “God help us.”

“Maybe he already did. Jarvis is dead.”

“Do you think Jarvis did this?” He nodded again at the flags. “All of this?”

Hunt watched Trenton Moore begin excavation on the second site. “Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe he had help.”

“You still believe there’s a cop involved?”

“You know about the dead cat? The threat warning Johnny Merrimon not to talk?”

“I do.”

“His mother says that before that happened, she came home from the hospital and saw a car parked near the house. Late at night. Engine running. He was just sitting there.”

“Hardly against the law.”

“There’s nothing out there. Some houses, a stretch of empty road. There is no legitimate reason for someone to be there. When she approached the car, it sped off. This was right after Johnny was identified in the Burton Jarvis story. His name was in every paper, on every channel. His picture, as you know. He would not have been hard to find.”

The Chief turned his palms, impatience crossing his features. “So?”

“She says it looked like a cop car.” Color pushed into the Chief’s face, but Hunt ignored it. “Whoever Johnny saw out here with Jarvis-”

“If he saw anybody.”

Hunt raised his voice. “Whoever Johnny saw out here had the presence of mind to put stolen plates on his car. If a cop had something to hide, that’s what he’d do.”

“That’s what anyone would do.”

“I want access to employee files.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I want you to reconsider.”

The Chief hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”

“When will I know?”

“Give me a day. Alright? Give me a day and some peace of mind.”

“I need something else. If there are bodies under those flags, and they are all children…”

“Go on.”

“No way did they all come from Raven County. Not even over a two-decade stretch of time.” He shook his head. “We’d have known.”

“Agreed.”

“I need some people to contact surrounding counties, nearby metropolitan areas.” The Chief was already nodding. “We need to look for other missing children.”

They fell into silence, each man alone with his thoughts. Hunt pictured grieving parents in museum bedrooms, surrounded by pink animals, dress-up clothes, and framed photographs, carefully dusted. He hoped to bring them closure, some small measure of peace. He wanted to deliver the remains of their children home to them, tell them that the monster responsible was dead, sent out of this world not by time, disease, or the police, but by one of his victims, by a small girl with the strength to pull the trigger. Hunt found poetry in that. Maybe they would, too.

The Chief’s thoughts were more basic. “The media will eat this up. I expect you to manage that, Hunt. No leaks. No unnamed sources. Keep your people quiet. Keep this shit locked.”

“Leave Yoakum and two uniforms here. Put a few units on the road to discourage media or anybody else that gets curious.”

The Chief frowned and palmed sweat from his forehead. “It’ll be a circus.”

“Another reason to send everybody else out of here.”

Hunt heard footsteps approaching and turned in time to see Cross moving quickly downslope. He glanced at the sealed area, then made a line for Hunt and the Chief. His face was flushed, his collar dark with sweat. “Hunt,” he said. “Chief.” He was eager, excited.

“What are you doing here?” Hunt asked.

“Looking for you.”

“Well, you’ve found me. What is it?”

“We have a location on David Wilson’s truck,” he said.

“Where?”

“North. Dumped in a ravine.”

“Show me.”

Hunt left the Chief alone in a shaft of yellow light, head bent, fingers working the brim of his hat. Hunt looked back twice, the Chief small and unchanging until the endless ranks of trees marched between them. They climbed out of the woods and walked past the shed, the empty house. Hunt looked at neither. “How did we find it?”

“Somebody called it in.”

“Who?”

“Wouldn’t give a name. He found it early this morning, an hour before sunrise, maybe. He sounded drunk. When I asked, he admitted that he’d been out shining deer. He said the spotlight lit it up pretty good.”

“Do we have people on scene?”

“I came straight for you. I knew you’d want it.”

“Are we sure it’s his car?” Hunt asked.

“The caller had the license number. Registered to the college. Has to be it.”

“Did we get a phone number on the caller?”

“Pay phone at a convenience store.”

“That’s unfortunate. Any idea if he touched the vehicle? A drunk out shining deer at five in the morning… I doubt he’d hesitate to scrounge around.”

“Unknown. He gave the location, then pretty much hung up on me.”

They came out of the woods and into the bright, morning sun. Hunt stopped at the road’s edge. “You could have called me.”

“I was hoping you’d take me with you.”

Hunt studied the younger man. His face was intent, determined. “You’re up for promotion. Is that right?”

“A good word from you would go a long way.”

Hunt considered it. “I haven’t slept much,” he said. “You drive.”

The boys moved slowly. The road was soft underfoot, the trees alive with birds and twists of shadow. Vines drooped to the ground, gray and smooth and thick as a large man’s wrist. Not far away, a woodpecker hammered for its breakfast.