The Overnight Guest(62)

“What time was that?” Levi asked.

“Around midnight or a bit later,” Deb said. “I didn’t realize what it was until I heard the news. Terrible, just terrible.”

“It is,” Levi agreed. “And that’s why I’m here. I’ve been sent out to talk to Ethan Doyle’s friends. See if they had any insights as to where he might be.”

“Brock and Ethan are not friends,” Deb said sourly. “We told those two boys to stay away from each other. Nothing good ever came out of those two boys being in the same space with one another.”

“I understand, ma’am, but you know boys.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Sometimes they don’t do what we know is best for them, right?”

Deb gave a little smile as if she knew exactly what Levi was talking about. “Maybe come back later, when my husband is home,” she suggested.

“Sure, but the thing is,” Levi said, running a hand through his hair. “We’re running out of time. The longer it takes to find those two kids, the less likely we’re going to be able to. And as a mom, I think if the shoe was on the other foot, and Brock had gone missing, you’d sure appreciate any and all the help someone could give.”

Deb considered this. “Brock’s not home, but I can have him call you when I see him.”

“Any spots you can think of that he might be right now? Any bit of information can help. Brock probably might not even be aware that he knows something.” Levi waited while Deb Cutter mulled this over, then added, “After two days, chances are we won’t find Ethan and Becky alive.”

Deb shook her head at the tragedy of it all. She couldn’t imagine losing her son. Brock was wild, but he always came home. What if one day he didn’t? She would be heartsick. Terrified. “You might try the old Richter farm. Randy’s setting up a hog confinement over there. Brock’s been helping out.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cutter,” Levi said, “and if you can think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Of course,” Deb said. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

Levi climbed back into his car and cranked the air. The Richter farm was only a few miles away, but he felt like he was going on a wild-goose chase. He would talk to the Cutter kid even if he had to chase him across all of Blake County.

The old Richter place was exactly how it sounded. Broken down and desolate. The farmhouse was crumbling and all that remained of most of the outbuildings were piles of barn boards. It smelled even worse. A combination of decomposed swine fecal matter and urine, creating a thick stink that made Levi’s eyes water.

Levi stepped from the car and examined the landscape. No vehicles were parked nearby, and except for the snuffle and grunt of the hogs locked away in the confine, the place appeared to be deserted.

Levi made his way around the house. The gray paint had faded, bleached by the sun and scoured by the elements. It was uninhabitable, the windows and doors covered with plywood, the guts shucked down to the studs. Levi remembered hearing something about a farm auction after the death of Leland Richter, the eighty-six-year-old man who insisted on staying in his home until his death a few months ago. Randy Cutter must have had the winning bid, though it didn’t look like he won much of anything.

A flash of movement caught his attention, and Levi eyed the long metal building that held the pigs. Something or someone had moved around the corner and out of sight.

Jesus, now he’d have to go check out the confine. Hogs gave him the willies. They could be mean sons of bitches with their tiny black eyes and flat, snuffling snouts. They ate just about anything you put in front of them, including flesh.

Levi strode toward the confine and when he turned the corner Brock Cutter was sitting in the bed of his truck, taking a swig from a bottle in a brown paper bag.

“Hey, Brock,” Levi called out. “I’ve been looking for you.” In surprise, Cutter fumbled the bottle and it fell to the ground, the dry soil quickly sucking up the liquid.

“Jesus, you scared me,” Cutter said, scrambling from the back of the truck.

“I scared you, huh?” Levi asked as he approached Cutter. “Let me tell you who is probably scared out of her mind right now—Becky Allen.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Cutter said, kicking at a clod of dirt.

“You sure about that, Brock?” Levi asked, inching closer, forcing Cutter to move backward. “Didn’t your truck have a cover on it the last time I saw you? When was that? Oh, yeah, the night William and Lynne Doyle were murdered and Ethan Doyle and Becky Allen disappeared.”

“I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened,” Cutter said, cocking his chin defiantly.

“But you were nearby,” Levi said, poking a finger at Cutter’s chest. “I pulled you over, remember? You were driving like a madman and sweating like a pig when I stopped you.” Levi gave a little chuckle at his own joke. “You told me some bullshit about being at a movie with your cousin. And you had a cover over the bed of your truck. Why’d you take it off?”

“I just did,” Cutter said. “And it’s none of your business. I can do whatever I want. It’s my truck.”

“Looks pretty clean,” Levi said, eyeing the truck up and down. “Looks like it’s been recently scrubbed out. What’d you do that for, Brock?” he asked. “Trying to get rid of some evidence, maybe?”