Moonbog (42 page)

“You,” David said, approaching his uncle. “Thanks a lot for what you did in there. I don’t exactly think that was a very fair thing to do, dropping your Will on me like that.”

Marshall shrugged. He looked up at the sun and squinted, then gazed up the length of Main Street toward the restaurant.

“The least you could have done was say something to me before we went in there.” David knew that Marshall was ignoring him.

“I mean it,” David said. He gripped his uncle’s arm at the elbow. “You should have said something to me. Don’t you realize what a pain in the ass my father’s Will has been to me?”

Again, Marshall shrugged. “Naw. I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Why the hell not?” His anger, forgotten, flared again.

Marshall smiled and twisted away from the hold David had on his arm. ”‘Cause I knew you’d react just like this,” he said with a laugh.

“Christ!” David shouted, exasperated. He shook his hands in the air with frustration.

“‘Sides,” Marshall said, his face suddenly dropping, “you and me got a more serious problem than who gets what when I die—’n that’s when I die.”

David’s anger immediately dissolved when he realized, again, that he had been thinking only of himself.

“I’m scared shitless about what Les might do,” Marshall said. His voice was twisted wire-tight. David looked at him and saw how the bright sun carved deep shadows in the lines of his face. He felt a stab of pity for the old man.

Marshall swallowed with difficulty and glanced up and down the length of Main Street. For a Thursday afternoon, the town seemed unnaturally quiet. Even in the hot spring sunlight, the tension and uneasiness could be felt like a dark presence.

He’s out there . . . out there in the Bog. . . . Old Man Troll is out there . . . waiting!
David’s mind whispered.

“And I think,” Marshall said, so suddenly it startled David away from his thoughts, “I think that son-of-a-bitch’ll try something. He knows I know it’s him.” He paused, scratched the loose flesh of his neck. “And I think he knows you know, too. ‘N I’m positive he’ll try to make sure neither one of us gets a chance to talk about it.”

“If we haven’t already,” David said. “That’s one thing we have; he doesn’t know that we haven’t convinced Shaw and Porter already, so—maybe—he’ll have to be a little bit cautious.”

Marshall looked at David harshly. “The goddamn guy has killed at least four kids, Davie, do you really think he’s gonna’ be cautious when what we know could nail him? Come on, boy, be realistic!”

David shook his head. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.” He could feel his armpits moisten. “If Les
is
the killer, and if he—”

“No
ifs
about it!” Marshall shouted. A person walking on the sidewalk on the other side of the street heard Marshall’s shout and paused to look over at him before walking on.

David turned and started toward the restaurant.

“OK, OK, no ifs. I just think that Les would be a little bit nervous at this point. He was found with the body of the boy he had killed. He can’t be so wacked out that he doesn’t realize the danger of discovery. I’d think, at this point at least, that he wouldn’t want to draw any more attention to himself—in any way. You were the one who found him with the body, don’t you think it’d look funny if you suddenly turned up dead?”

“I ain’t laughin’,” Marshall muttered, staring down at the sidewalk as he limped along beside David.

“All right, all right,” David said, “but don’t you think he’d want to lay low for a while? If his story washes with Shaw and Porter, if they don’t suspect him because he’s a local boy they’ve known all their lives, don’t you think the rational thing to do would be to keep your ass down?”

Marshall snorted and spit onto the sidewalk in front of his feet, carefully stepping over the spittle as he walked. “
Rational!
The
rational
thing to do!” He snorted and spit again. “But we ain’t talkin’ about someone I’d say was very
rational
, would you? Jumped-up-Jesus Christ, Davie, we’re talking about someone who’s rapin’ little boys and then cuttin’ their guts open! We ain’t talkin’ about anyone who’s
rational!
”

David blinked his eyes nervously, finding nothing to say.

“That son-of-a-bitch is as crazy as a shithouse rat! And if he’s goddamned crazy enough to rape and kill kids, he might even be crazy enough to beat that lie detector test on Saturday. He maybe could lie right in that machine’s little face, and it wouldn’t register a thing. And if he’s
that
crazy, I’ll bet you my bottom dollar he’s crazy enough to think he can come out to my place tonight, kill me, and get away with it! . . . and get away with it ‘cause Shaw’s so goddamned blind he can’t see the end of his nose!”

David shook his head and muttered, “Christ.” He was gnawing on his lower lip as he looked up at the town clock. His stomach rumbled like distant thunder. “I suppose we’re safe, as long as we’re in town, don’t you?”

Marshall nodded.

“I don’t think he’d try anything in the middle of Main Street in broad daylight. And,” he said, rubbing his stomach—”I’m hungry as hell. That breakfast you fixed me this morning didn’t stick to me.”

“It ought to ‘ve,” Marshall said, faintly smiling, “you ate enough for two or three people. Just a growin’ boy, I guess.”

David laughed aloud and felt an inner joy that he and Marshall had found this new level of friendship; that they could joke with one another. This was something they could never have done until last night; and in some vague way, David was grateful for the events that had brought—forced—him to be much closer to Marshall.

“Well, anyway, I’m hungry now,” David said, “so let’s head on over to the Sawmill and get some lunch. If the service is still the way it was when I was a kid, we’ll be having dessert just in time to be late at Latham’s office.”

“Things ain’t changed at the Sawmill,” Marshall said, chuckling. “Sounds good to me.”

Marshall started to cross the road, but he had taken no more than three steps before David grabbed his arm, jerking him to a stop. “Wait a minute,” David said excitedly, “I just got an idea.”

“D’you wanna’ spend the afternoon eatin’ or jawbonin’?”

“No, really, I just got a damn good idea.” David released his uncle’s arm, and they both crossed the street side by side. “About tonight. If, like you say, you think Les is going to try something, how about if you aren’t at your house tonight?”

Marshall raised an eyebrow.

“What if,” David continued, “when Les comes to your house, you aren’t home?”

“And just where would I be?” Marshall asked. “Out at the old homestead,” David practically shouted. “If he knows I suspect him too, he might come out to the motel looking for both of us, so we wouldn’t want to be there. But the old homestead is perfect! It’s been empty for so long, I don’t think he’d ever think of looking for us there.”

Marshall stroked his whiskers thoughtfully as he walked beside David. “You know, you just may have somethin’ there, Davie . . . you just might.”

“It’s
perfect!
If Shaw and Porter talk to Les—”

“Blah!” Marshall waved his hand in front of his face as though David’s suggestion was a bothersome fly. “They won’t do a goddamned thing. They think I’m losin’ my goddamned mind a—crazy old shit who’s just runnin’ loose at the mouth. Shaw’ll sit on his ass for a day or two before he gets around to talkin’ to Les.”

“Well, if we can avoid Les at least until Saturday, when you both take the polygraph, then we’ll see what happens after that.”

“What’ll happen,” Marshall said, smirking, “is they’ll probably blame the murders on me and lock me up.”

“I don’t know. I’ll bet the polygraph backs up your story.”

“So,” Marshall said, “all we gotta’ do is stay alive for two more days, is that it?” They had stopped just outside the Sawmill door. “Well, that don’t sound like it’ll be too hard to me. How about to you?”

David smiled. “Naw, piece of cake.”

“Come on, let’s grab some lunch so we can make it back to Latham’s on time.”

II

I
t was four o’clock in the afternoon.

Les was sitting on his back porch, watching the sun begin its westward drop behind the hills. The shadows of the oak trees that bordered Les’ backyard lengthened, beginning to creep across the grass toward the house. The branches of the trees were alive with fresh new green leaves and singing and mating birds.

Les reached down beside his chair and picked up another can of beer. He popped the ring-top, dropped it into the open mouth of the can, and then tilted his head back for a long pull. It was his fifth beer of the afternoon and he was just starting to unwind.

He was glad that he had the house to himself. Robbie and Sammy had come home from school and gone off swimming with some friends. They gave him repeated assurances that there were two adults accompanying them, so he wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening to them. That had made Les smile inwardly. From the note she had left him, he knew that Leah and Georgie were off shopping. She always did her shopping on Thursday because she wanted to miss the Friday afternoon crowds. The house was silent, and that was good—it gave Les the quiet he needed to think.

The events of the past few days were beginning to wear on him. He was feeling more tense than usual, snapping at anything anyone said to him. A small part of him regretted that he had hauled off and hit Leah this morning. She had started to hassle him about taking another day off sick. She had insisted that Wescott knew he was faking it and that he would lose his job for sure if he didn’t start shaping up. He had insisted that even if Wescott thought he was gold bricking, he would allow him a few days to get over the shock of finding the Hollis boy’s body.

The shock of finding the Hollis boy’s body!
The thought made him snort with laughter, and some beer went up into his nasal passages, stinging until his eyes began to water. He looked at the descending sun, squinted, and took another mouthful of beer.

That was the easy part, he thought—pretending to be the big town hero, the one who found the body of the missing boy who had been so brutally raped and murdered. He felt no twinge of remorse as he thought about what he had done.

His problem was what in the hell he was going to do about Old Man Logan. The old fucker knew just a little bit too much, of that he was sure. He had kept his mouth shut in Shaw’s office the other day, sure, but that was no guarantee that he would stay silent. Not unless he had his mouth shut permanently.

That in itself was not much of a problem, either. He smiled as he thought about what he had done earlier today to throw a bit of fear into the old man’s heart. Logan was just a miserable old fucker who could barely get out of his own way—it would be no sweat to nail him, too—it was just a matter of time.

Time—that was his biggest problem. Everything would be all right if he just had enough time to make sure. However long it took him to silence Logan, there was that problem of the other person who had seen him . . .
probably
seen him, he corrected himself. There was no assurance that the driver in that car had seen him . . . but there was no assurance that he hadn’t, either. Just as there was no guarantee that Old Man Logan would keep his trap shut. Les knew he had to make sure.

But if that other person
had
seen him . . . or if Old Man Logan
did
spill his guts to Shaw. . . and if Shaw did decide to follow up the lead. . . .

Les nearly jumped out of his chair when he heard the front door open and then slam shut with a bang. He recognized the faint patter of Georgie’s feet as he scampered through the house.

“I’m home, hon’,” Leah called, once she was in the kitchen. The screen door swung open, and Georgie burst out onto the back porch. “Hi Dad,” he said, running over to Les and coming to a stop beside his chair. “He’s out here on the porch, Mom!” he shouted.

“Hi yah, kid,” Les said, smiling faintly. “Hey, why don’t you do me a favor and take these empties inside!”

Georgie began to collect the cans and started for the door.

“‘N you could bring me out another couple of cans.”

Georgie squeezed through the door and, as it swung shut, it caught one of the cans and sent it skittering across the porch. Georgie paused inside for a moment, considering whether or not to retrieve it, then went in to the kitchen.

“Where were you when I got back from taking the kids swimming? You got my note?” Leah asked, standing in the doorway.

Les nodded and swallowed some beer. “I just went out for a ride,” he said with a grumble.

“You shouldn’t take the chance of someone from work seeing you. You can’t call in sick and then spend the afternoon driving around town.”

“Will you just get off my ass?” Les shouted, glaring at Leah. Georgie had returned with three cold beers and was standing silently beside his mother. He handed her the beers, and she stooped to put them beside Les’ chair. Les nodded, took another swallow, and then belched.

“You could at least say thank you,” Leah said.

“Thank you,” Les said, mimicking a kiss-ass schoolboy. His voice suddenly hardened again, “Now will you please just leave me alone?” His eyes gleamed insanely as he looked up at Leah.