The Narrows(64)

That was when Maggie ran back into the house.

She slammed the door then spun the dead bolt. Peering through the crescent of glass in the door, she was horrified to find her husband’s body on the ground now, having been dragged off the car by the pale-skinned boy. Evan had stopped struggling and now lay like a sack of wet grain in the dirt beside the car.

As she watched, the boy walked around the side of the car and crouched down beside the mutilated bulb of Evan’s skull. Just before Maggie Quedentock passed out, she saw the boy dig around inside her husband’s skull and bring a wet and bloodied tendril of gray matter to his mouth.





Part Two:

Sundown





“How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the brief gleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds…”

—Bram Stoker, Dracula





Chapter Ten


1


For the first time in years, Ben Journell showed up late for his shift at the station. He’d spent much of the previous night combing through the case file for the unidentified boy. There were the photos he and Eddie had taken at the scene; there were Deets’s photos as well, taken after the ME had arrived on the scene to officially pronounce the death; there was their official report; the coroner’s report, notification letters and other official documentation. He had hoped that by going through it again he might be able to uncover some previously elusive bit of information that might open some secret door for him. And was there a connection between what had happened to this boy and Matthew Crawly’s disappearance? He was becoming increasingly worried about the Crawly boy. It was now Tuesday and there was no further news.

“Hey,” Mel Haggis said as they nearly bumped each other’s shoulders in the doorway of the Batter’s Box. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Looks like you didn’t get no sleep last night.”

“I didn’t.” Ben went over to his desk where he dumped the case file on the unidentified boy. “Anything exciting going on?” He could hear the dullness in his own voice. It made him tired.

“Dorr Kirkland just had Tom Schuler’s car towed from a no-parking zone outside his store,” Haggis said with about the same amount of enthusiasm as Ben’s. “And Poorhouse Pete’s in lockup again. Poor fool seems really out of it today.” Haggis shrugged, looking bored. “That’s about it.”

“You guys ever get in touch with the FBI about the Crawly kid’s disappearance?”

“Oh, yeah,” Haggis said, his small, blue eyes brightening. “They located the kid’s father.”

Ben sat wearily in his chair. “Hugh? Where is he?”

“Salt Lake City. A couple of feds showed up at his place and interviewed him. He said he hadn’t seen the boy since he left Stillwater about a year or so ago and hadn’t been back to Stillwater since. Feds said his story checks out.”

“Damn.” Ben had been hoping the father was involved. It boded better for Matthew that way.

“Guy picks up and leaves his family like that,” Haggis went on. “You think he even cares that his boy’s gone missing?”

“I don’t know, Mel.”

“I mean, how does a guy do something like that?”

Again, Ben said, “I don’t know.”

Haggis looked at his wristwatch. “I’m gonna grab some lunch. You want anything?”

Ben waved a hand at him. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Haggis turned to leave then paused and turned back around. “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a kid waiting for you in Shirley’s office.”

“A kid?”

“Some girl.”

“Yeah? She’s waiting for me?”

“Says she wanted to talk to Ben Journell. That’s you, last I checked.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You got it,” Haggis said and sauntered out of the Batter’s Box.

Ben thumbed through the stack of Post-it notes Shirley had left on his desk—she didn’t believe in leaving voice mails—and saw, with much relief, that nothing more serious than the dissemination of a few parking tickets had happened in his absence.

When he pushed open the door to the dispatcher’s room, he saw Shirley talking to Brandy Crawly, who sat in one of the molded-plastic chairs against the wall. She looked small and lost and had her hands clenched between her knees. As he entered, the girl looked up at him. A fierce helplessness flashed behind her large, dark eyes.

“Hey, Brandy,” he said. “I heard you were looking for me.”

Brandy stood, looking as unstable as a foal. “Mr. Journell? Um, I mean…Officer Journell?”

“Call me Ben,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” He held the door open and waved her through. Then he shared a quizzical look with Shirley before leading the girl back to his desk in the Batter’s Box.

Brandy walked slowly down the aisle of desks, peering all around.

“You look disappointed or something,” Ben said, pulling an extra chair over to his desk. They both sat down.

“I thought you’d have guns and stuff all over the place.”