Believe No One (12 page)

‘He
was
being taken care of.'

She gave a bark of laughter. ‘Excuse me, Professor, but you do not know what the hell you're talking about.'

He opened his mouth to speak, but a second later, she saw recognition flash at the back of his eyes. ‘You're right,' he said. ‘I'm sorry. I don't have the first idea.'

Hicks had never heard him apologize and mean it. He knew she was talking about herself.
Damnit,
she thought.

The last thing she wanted to talk about was her own messed-up childhood, so she said, ‘A dive team from Tulsa PD is coming tomorrow to search Mr Guffey's pond, but I don't think Billy's in there. It could be his DNA is already in CODIS, and there's just nothing to match him to – and I need more than his sister's DNA to make a definite match.'

‘The hospital might have Billy's heel-prick card,' Fennimore suggested. ‘That's a blood sample hospitals take shortly after birth to check for congenital diseases.'

She nodded. ‘We call it a Guthrie card. But Oklahoma Medical facilities destroy them after forty-two days.'

He gazed at her, a thoughtful look on his face.

‘I looked it up,' she lied.

‘How did the mother die?' he asked.

‘Cancer,' Hicks said.

‘All right, then the hospital might have tissue samples.'

‘
Now
you're thinking, Professor,' she said and they chinked bottles. ‘I'll talk to the surgeon operated on Laney, see if he can help.'

‘Mum's and big sister's DNA will get you some way,' Fennimore said. ‘But Mr Dawalt's would give you Billy's full profile. I suppose the Family Reference Sample has to be voluntary?'

She nodded. ‘And to be in CODIS, he'd have to've committed a felony crime. Judging by his reluctance to donate a sample, he may well be in there as an unidentified crime-scene sample, but I have no probable cause to—' She jumped out of her seat. ‘The dog!' she exclaimed.

‘What dog?' Fennimore said.

He looked so puzzled, she laughed.
Oh, this was just too beautiful.

‘I can't believe I didn't think of it before. I witnessed Dawalt commit a felony crime with my own two eyes.' The sheer beautiful truth of it made her want to whoop. ‘There was a dog chained up in Dawalt's front yard, without shade or shelter, or access to water in ninety-degree heat. He threw a glass bottle at that poor animal – hit it square on the back of the head. It's in the statute books, Professor – animal cruelty is a felony crime. I'm gonna get that DNA sample after all.'

‘Well, that calls for a drink.' He offered her a fresh beer from the cooler. ‘Are we allowed the rest of the evening off?,

She gave him a doubtful look. ‘I did want to put some case notes on the FBI databases tonight, but the department's computer is on the fritz again. Won't get fixed till tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.'

‘Doesn't Oklahoma have a State Bureau of Investigation?'

‘The OSBI can only get involved in an investigation if they're invited.'

‘So, invite them.'

‘Not gonna happen.' She shook her head, feeling the beer swirl inside her brain.

‘Why on earth not?' Fennimore said. ‘They have experienced agents, don't they? Lab facilities, cash?'

‘All of that,' Hicks said. ‘But the local field agent ran against Sheriff Launer four years ago – almost won, too – and the Sheriff is not a man to let bygones be bygones.'

‘Ah,' Fennimore said. ‘So, you're stuffed.'

She looked at him over the rim of her beer bottle. ‘Oh, I'm not ready for the taxidermist just yet. Have you heard of the National Centre for Missing and Exploited Children?'

‘Of course,' he said. ‘The UK's Child Exploitation website links to your “Missing Kids” website.'

He probably checked out the site about a million times looking for his little girl,
she thought.

‘As soon as NCMEC get word of Billy Dawalt, they will deploy a Team Adam consultant to advise,' she said, pushing on, pretty certain that he would not want her pity any more than she wanted his. ‘Team Adam brings a
lot
of resources to the table.'

‘And since Sheriff Launer has no axe to grind with NCMEC …'

‘Those resources will come to me.' She gave him a sly look. ‘To
us
– if you're still willing.'

‘Oh, I'm having fun,' Fennimore said.

Fennimore's whole face lit up when he smiled, and boy, did she want to kiss him right then.

‘So, you wouldn't mind letting me use your laptop for a little while?' she said.

‘Is that what the sandwiches and booze were?' he asked. ‘A bribe?'

‘I would not have put it that baldly. But if your laptop is encrypted, I could get onto the Law Enforcement Online portal without even breaking any rules.'

He set down his beer and reached for his carryall. ‘I've got to say, I'm disappointed,' he said, looking at her over the monitor of the computer while it booted up.

‘How so?'

‘I was hoping you were here to do some night fishing,' Fennimore said.

Hicks gave him a slow smile. ‘It's still early, Professor.'

Lambert Woods Mobile Home Park, Williams County, Oklahoma

Red sat on an old chair cushion, his back against the broad grey trunk of an oak, and listened to Country Variety on his pocket radio, waiting for the baseball scores at the top of the hour. He had found a blue plastic sheet on the park dump and tacked it between the oak and a hackleberry bush for shade; it would double up to keep off the rain in case of thunderstorms. His den wasn't more than a fifteen-minute walk from home, but it was far enough that his momma wouldn't always be hollering for him. He sipped a beer and smoked the butt-end of a joint into which he'd mixed tobacco and some of the weed he stole from the marijuana patch in the woods.

The Ford pickup he hitched a ride off of a few days back had taken him by the back roads into Durell, seven miles from home. He could've jumped down a dozen times, the heavyset man having to slow up and even stop once or twice at crossings, but Red was curious and it wasn't like he had anything else to do with the day, so he rode the truck all the way into town and hopped off at the hardware store, intending to hitch a ride back. He thought he knew who the heavyset man was – the kids on the park said there was a family lived in the backwoods name of Tulk. They owned Lambert Woods Mobile Home Park, and the woods where he found the pot grow. The other kids said he was crazy going up in the woods – there was traps all over, and the Tulks did not take kindly to trespassers.

He paid for Sprite at the Family Dollar and stole a bag of Skittles, then waited across the lot for his ride, drinking his soda and popping candy into his mouth, chewing slow to make it last. But the driver trolled out of the hardware with a big flatbed cart stacked high. He loaded up the back of the truck with fertilizer and wood stakes and rolls of chicken wire until it was full, then he tied the tarp down real tight, and the boy knew he would have to walk home.

It took him two and a half hours to walk home that day. Since then he dried and flaked the weed and sold some of it to a kid in school. But the kid wanted his money back the next day, saying it was no good, being leaf, which didn't have enough THC in it for a good hit. They negotiated a deal which meant the kid paid for what he already smoked and gave back the rest. All Red made out of it was five dollars; enough to buy the beer he was drinking, and some cigarette papers. He thought maybe he would go look for the place again in July, see if the buds were ripe for picking. For now, he intended to enjoy the last of what he had.

He took another toke from his joint and closed his eyes. Mellowed out as he was by the weak leaf and a few sips of beer, a rustle in the low brush a distance away gave him no cause for concern; he opened his eyes but didn't see anything and closed them again, scratching his back lazily against the rough bark of the oak. He heard it again – a crunch of leaves and twigs – but could not be bothered to get up, so he waved one hand like he was greeting a friend and said, ‘Hey, bear!' giggling as he settled back again.

For a half-minute there was silence, and he began to doze off – till he heard a heavy pounding off to his right. The boy turned, but couldn't see for the plastic sheet. Something came out of the woods, a dark blue shadow, getting bigger and darker as it rushed him. He began to scramble out from his shelter, but he was slow, the beer and the weed having furred his mind, and it was on him before he could get clear.

A man, not a bear. He took Red by the collar, knocked his baseball cap sideways, grabbed the can.

The boy yelled, ‘Hey!' swiping at the strong hand that held him.

He said, ‘Hey yourself.' It was his momma's boyfriend. He shoved Red against the tree with one hand and held the can outside of the shelter to the light. ‘Coors?' He took a chug from the can. ‘Cool, too.' He handed it back and let go the boy's collar.

Red was so surprised, he slumped where he was, didn't even think of running. He picked up the joint from the ground where Red had dropped it and pinched it out, rubbing it between his palms to shred it, then holding his palms out flat so the air could carry off what was left, but he did not comment. He sat next to Red, his long legs sticking out of the shelter.

He dug in his shirt pocket and took out a pack of Dunhill lights and a Zippo lighter with a wolf etched on it, offered the boy a cigarette like it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘Got a nice place here,' he said, when they had both lit up. Around them, food wrappers and crushed pop cans – the debris of two days playing hookey. ‘Easy to spot, though, with all the garbage in your yard, and this tarp flapping about like the Stars and Stripes on Independence Day.' He squinted up at the plastic shelter and the boy looked away, feeling foolish.

‘It's good to have a beer, maybe even a little weed, to wind down at the end of a hard day, but you make that what you're all about, you'll finish up with all those other welfare losers, sitting outside their trailers at eight in the morning scratching their balls and sinking beers.'

Red felt a band of hotness across his forehead and around his eyes.

‘I understand it – really I do,' he said. ‘You had it hard, your momma hitting the dope and the booze like she used to, stepping out with so many men.' Red shot him a burning look. ‘I know, kid – I'm one of 'em. But I do try to do right by you and your momma.' He nodded and said half to himself, ‘Truly, I do.'

‘I know,' Red said.

He looked down, surprised, and Red felt his face heat up.

‘Did you just pay me a compliment?'

‘I sure hope not.' The boy held his face still for a few seconds, but he could not keep it up and he grinned.

Momma's mullet-headed boyfriend smiled, too, then he took off his cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve. ‘Man, it's so hot, even the crickets are looking for shade.' He nudged Red with his elbow. ‘Could you spare a swallow of that beer?'

Red handed him the can and he drank and handed it back, then he leaned back against the broad trunk of the oak and smoked his cigarette for a few minutes, staring out into the dense green of the woods.

‘You are a smart kid,' he said, talking in that low, flat way he had. ‘You'll get away with more than most 'cos you're quick in mind and body. But, Red, you do have a knack for pissing people off, so you got to stay sharp.' He slid his hand under the cushion the boy sat on. Red yelped and jumped to his feet.

He came up with a small plastic bag between his first and middle fingers. Red's stash: the dried remnants of cannabis leaf. ‘You can't stay sharp when you're stoned, kid.'

This guy hadn't called Red ‘kid' since he moved in with them. Red felt his disapproval, and that he'd earned it, too.

‘I understand why you're mad at your momma – and me, too. But, Red, your momma's had enough troubles – she does not need the sheriff's office coming around, and she does not want to lose you to the system.'

‘Did you say something to her?' the boy demanded, on guard again, ready to come out fists swinging. ‘Did you tell her about this?'

The man sighed. ‘For a smart kid, you sure can be dumb. If I'd a told her, she would be here right now, filled with righteous rage, and she would not be sharing no smokes with you, neither.'

‘Oh,' Red said. ‘Okay.'

The boyfriend laughed and Red scowled, asked him what it was he found so damn funny. But he just laughed harder and slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘That was as near as you ever got to saying you was sorry, son. '

Red shrugged. He guessed he
was
sorry. The big redneck could've come in and broke up his den, but he didn't.

‘I'm about to head back,' he said, putting his baseball cap back on. ‘You coming?'

‘You go on,' the boy said. ‘I need to pick up some trash.'

‘Want some help?'

‘No,' Red said, stooping to pick up a few scraps. ‘It's my mess, I'll clean it up.'

‘All right.' The man handed the slim bag of weed back to the boy, but did not let go right off. ‘Think about what I said, okay, Red?'

‘Uh-huh,' the boy said, but could not meet his eye.

‘Good,' he said, ‘'Cos that really coulda been a black bear creeping up on you, and I do not want to come up here one day and find nothing but meat and entrails under that tarp o' yours.'

Method Exchange Team Headquarters, St Louis, Missouri

The Method Exchange team were working around the conference table at Brentwood PD in St Louis by 8 a.m. It could take weeks to track down and verify all they needed to complete a full ViCAP entry for Kyra Pender, but Valance had stayed late to input information on her eight-year-old son, John, into the National Centre for Missing and Exploited Children database.