Brian Freeman - The Bone House

Cab shifted his light and illuminated the last dark corner of the shelter.

'Son of a bitch,' he said.

Chapter Forty-Five

'We have to do something right now,' Katie said. Her breath, when she exhaled, reeked of nicotine. The window beside her was open, and rain sprayed across the girl's arm.

'There's someone I can call,' Hilary said.

'Who?'

'His name's Cab Bolton. He's the Florida detective who's investigating Glory's disappearance. The local police will listen to him. They'll send a car out here, and we can talk to them.'

Katie wiped steam from the glass with her elbow. 'They'll ring Gary's doorbell, and he'll give them a song and dance, just like he did for me at the dorm. Amy needs us now. You said you'd help me.'

'We can't deal with this alone. Cab's smart. He'll know why this is important.'

Hilary dug out her phone and hunted in her purse for the card with Cab Bolton's number. Before she could dial, Katie covered the phone with her hand and stopped her.

'I've got a better idea.'

'What is it?'

'Let's give the police a reason to go inside.'

'I don't understand,' Hilary said.

Katie pushed open the door of the Taurus and climbed out into the rain. Hilary reached across the seat and grabbed her arm.

'What do you think you're doing?'

'I'm going to Gary's house.'

'No way. Get back inside.'

Katie pulled free. Water dripped from her face and hair, if the police knock on Gary's door now, he can slam the door in their face, and they won't be able to do a thing about it. But he'll let me in. He has no reason to think I know anything.'

'What do you expect to accomplish?' Hilary asked.

'I'm going to force his hand.'

'How?'

'I'll tell him the truth. Amy thought he was a murderer. I'll say I'm going to the police.'

'You're not going to do that,' Hilary insisted, if he really has Amy, all that does is put you in danger.'

Katie's head bobbed. Her glasses slipped down her nose, if he grabs me, great. He doesn't know you're out here. If I'm not back in ten minutes, then you can call nine one one, and you've got an excuse for the police to storm the place. Otherwise, they have nothing, and we both know it.'

'In the meantime, you could be dead.'

'He won't do anything to me that fast.'

'You can't take the chance.'

'Too late,' Katie said. 'Give me ten minutes.'

The girl slammed the door and ran across the wet grass of the park. Hilary got out of the Taurus to chase her, but Katie was already too far away, running through the driving rain. Hilary wanted to shout after her, but she bit her lip and said nothing. As she clung to the top of the car door and watched her, the girl dashed across the empty intersection into the glow of the street light. Katie disappeared behind the towering maple trees that guarded the front of Gary Jensen's house.

Mark heard a muffled splintering of wood as someone forced open the door leading to the back porch. He clapped a hand over Tresa's mouth to squelch her scream. He put his lips against her ear and whispered.

'He's in back. We'll go out the front. Don't make a sound.'

He pulled Tresa toward the hallway, and with his body shielding her, he guided them toward the front door fifteen feet away. The distance felt long, and he was a big target if anyone took a chance by firing a shot from behind. He kept his hands firmly on Tresa's shoulders. The girl trembled, and he hoped she wouldn't panic and run, giving away their location.

The door was ajar. When the wind blew, he could taste the rain. He winced as the door moved an inch, its hinges making a sharp squeal. Ahead of him, Tresa froze and sucked in a breath. He put pressure on her back and bent down so that his face brushed her red hair.

'Keep going.'

They squeezed through the narrow gap. They were still blind, but the night air felt like freedom. Mark guided them toward his truck, feeling his way to the end of the wall where the living room jutted out beyond the front door. When they reached the driveway, he let go of Tresa's hand and stopped to slide his keys out of his pocket into his fist. He reached out to take Tresa's arm again.

She wasn't there.

He spread out both of his arms. The girl was gone.

'Tresa ?' he hissed, as loud as he dared.

Mark heard the squish of her running footsteps. He turned, and she collided with him hard. She bounced off his chest and stumbled backward and fell. He bent down to reach for her, but she jumped up at the same time, and this time, she clutched at his arm, and his keys flew from his fingers. So did the hammer.

Twenty feet away, the car alarm of the Explorer whooped. The headlights flashed on and off like a strobe. The horn blared a warning. The light caught them in its blinking glare, exposed and vulnerable. Mark scanned the ground for the keys and didn't see them, and he didn't have time to search in the dirt. He grabbed Tresa and pulled her toward the far side of the house.

'Come on, we'll head for the beach.'

Beyond the wall, protected by the house, the night was pitch black again. The alarm wailed behind them. He didn't care about the noise they made. He charged through the trees, stumbling over rocks and roots, shielding his face with an outstretched hand as branches clawed for his skin. He clung to Tresa's hand, dragging her in his wake. Ahead of them, he could make out the paleness where the forest ended at the rocky beach near the half-moon bay. He burst from the trees with Tresa on his heels. The rain and wind found them. The water lapped at the shore.

Running on the rocks was loud and difficult. He turned west, and they tramped up the beach along the edge of the woods, using the shaggy branches of the evergreens for cover. He wrenched his ankle as he put his left foot wrong, but he didn't slow down. Shivers of pain shot up his leg as they ran. They reached the dirt road that led from the beach into the campground and then to the island cemetery.

'I know where to hide,' he told her.

He followed the road into the campground. The trees were tall here, and the land was flat, with straight narrow trunks blocking the way like soldiers. He guided them through the darkness and nearly collided with the cinder-block wall before he saw it. It was one of the changing rooms built for summer bathers, like a small cottage tucked among the trees and picnic benches. He felt for the wooden door and prayed that it was unlocked. When he tugged the wet handle, the door slid silently open. He and Tresa crept inside, and he closed the door behind them. Even in the winter season, the dank space smelled of sewage. He felt his way forward on the concrete floor, and his fingers brushed the metal wall of a toilet stall. He pulled Tresa inside, leaving the door unlatched.

The interior was cold and damp. The girl was shivering. He slid off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. Outside and inside, he heard water dripping.

'Now what?' Tresa whispered.

'Now we wait,' Mark said.

Chapter Forty-Six

After half an hour on the black, rolling water, the lights of the Washington Island harbor looked like salvation. Cab was green, but Bobby Larch looked unconcerned as he throttled back the engine of his fishing boat and drifted into the calm shelter past the breakwater. Cab could see the outline of the ferries where they were docked for the night. As they neared the shore, he heard something odd and out of place. Jazz music. Somewhere in a harbor-side restaurant, a live band drummed up applause from the crowd of locals.

Cab didn't think he had ever been happier than when the boat nudged gently against the pier. Larch saw it in his face.

'Hey, I said I'd get you here,' he said.

Cab stepped off the boat on to the dock, and his knees were wobbly as the ground stopped swaying under his feet. His skin was icy and wet. His suit and coat were thick with grime. 'Yeah.'