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“Why do you say that?”
“Because the little shit just threw a rock through my front window.”
“What makes you think it’s Joh
Holloway picked up his keys. “It’s always Joh
“Always?”
“This is the fifth fucking time.”
Joh
No one knew what Joh
Except her parents, he thought.
Her parents knew.
Hunt sat in his car and watched Holloway come out of the house. He gave a cold stare that Hunt was happy to return, then settled into his car. The big engine caught and the Escalade rocked onto the road. Hunt listened to the rain on his car and looked at the light spilling from Joh
He powered up his laptop and keyed in Joh
Hunt thought about why Joh
Five times and never caught. Hunt shook his head and tried not to smile.
He really did like that kid.
For another two minutes, Hunt sat in the car and pored through the Tiffany Shore file. It was thin. He knew what she was wearing when last seen. He had a list of identifying marks. A dime-sized birthmark marred the back of her right shoulder blade; a fishhook scar still showed pink on her left calf. She was twelve years old, blond, with no major dental work, no surgical scars. Hunt had her height, weight, date of birth. She owned a cell phone but records showed no outgoing calls since yesterday. Not much to go on. What they did have was a couple of kids who heard her scream but couldn’t agree on the color of the car she was pulled into. Hunt had also questioned her closest friends. As far as they knew, Tiffany had no secret boyfriend, no problems at home. She made good grades, liked horses, and had kissed a boy maybe once. A typical girl.
Hunt jotted a note in the file: Were Tiffany and Alyssa friends? Maybe they both knew the wrong guy.
Hunt thought of the things he did not have. He had no description of the perp, no calls of suspicious activity, and no ID on the car. Basically, nothing. What he did have was Joh
Hunt needed to find the kid.
He called the station, got one of his detectives. “It’s Hunt. What have you got?”
“Nothing good. Myers and Holiday are still with Tiffany’s parents.”
“Are they holding up?” Hunt interrupted.
“Their doctor is there. The mother, you know. They’re sedating her.”
“Anything on Tiffany’s cell?”
“Nothing. No hits on GPS, either.”
“Is Yoakum still backtracking David Wilson?”
“He’s at the house now.”
“Do we know anything yet?”
“Just that Wilson was a professor at the college. Biology of some sort.”
“What about prints?” Hunt asked.
“We got a thumb print from the victim’s eyelid. We’re ru
“Volunteers?”
“Over a hundred so far. We’re trying to get that organized for an early start. Should be working the countryside by six.” A silence fell between the men, both thinking the same thing: It’s a damn big county.
“We need more people,” Hunt said. “Get the churches involved, the civic clubs. We had a hundred college kids when Alyssa Merrimon went missing. Call the dean.” Hunt rattled off a number from memory. “He’s sympathetic. See if he can make something happen. Also, I want Tiffany’s school canvassed again tomorrow. Send the least intimidating officers you can find. Young ones. Females. You know the drill. I don’t want to miss something just because some kid is too scared to talk to us.”
“Got it. What else can I do?”
“Hang on.” Hunt pulled up Katherine Merrimon’s registration on his laptop. “Write this down, then put it on the wire.” He gave the model, make, and license plate. “The kid is in his mom’s car. It’s a beater. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot. Check Tate Street first, Ken Holloway’s house. I doubt he’ll be there, but it’s worth a look. If anyone sees this car, I need to know immediately. Stop and detain. Call me when it happens.”
“On it.”
“Good. Give me David Wilson’s address.” Hunt reached for his pen, but saw movement on the porch of Joh
What the hell?
He heard a scream, muted by the rain. His fingers found the lights, and bright beams slashed through the rain. “Holy shit.”
“Detective-”
Hunt pressed the phone to his ear. “I have to go,” he said.
“But-”
Hunt clicked the phone shut. His hand moved for the door, and he spoke again, even as rain hit his face.
“Holy shit.”
But another scream drowned out the words.
CHAPTER TEN
Joh
Joh
Joh
Joh
“I don’t think so.” Jack looked shamefaced. “You know about the lockdown, right? Tiffany Shore?”
“I know about it.”
“The school called my dad when they couldn’t find me.”
“My mom, too.”
“Yeah. Well. He caught me with his beer and I was still drunk. I’m in it deep. Mom’s at church, praying for Tiffany’s life and my eternal soul.” He rolled his eyes, then hooked a thumb at the door. “Dickhead’s in charge. He’s supposed to keep an eye on me.” Jack pressed closer to the crack. “But this dead guy. That must have been intense. What’s happening now? I heard some of the stuff my dad said. Did he really have something to do with Tiffany?”