The Last Child

“I don’t know.”

“I promise, Katherine. I swear.”

She nodded, shoulders turned in, hands still folded into a small, perfect package. “Do you think somebody took him?”

Hunt could barely hear her. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“Maybe somebody decided that a threat wasn’t good enough.”

Hunt turned on the sofa. “There was no forced entry, no sign of a struggle. Steve’s truck was taken. Joh

“I need him back. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I need my son home.”

Hunt watched her stare through the glass. Yoakum appeared in the kitchen door. “Clyde,” he said, and motioned with a finger.

Hunt walked to the kitchen. “What is it?”

Yoakum led Hunt into the kitchen and stopped at the small table. “You see anything here that bothers you?” Hunt looked at the table. It was mostly bare. There were a few magazines, some mail, yesterday’s newspaper and an open phone book. He was about to shake his head when Yoakum said: “Phone book.”

It took a second, then Hunt saw it. Levi Freemantle, 713 Huron Street.

“Oh, shit.”

“Why would he care about Levi Freemantle?”

“He thinks Freemantle knows where Alyssa is.”

“Why would he think that?”

“He thinks that David Wilson might have told him before he died.” Hunt closed the book. “This is my fault.”

“No one could have guessed he’d do something like this.”

“I could have.” Hunt scrubbed his hands over his face. “The kid’s capable of just about anything. It was stupid of me to think he’d just let this go.”

“I can be there in eight minutes.”

“No. The kid trusts me, more or less. Better if I go.”

“Well, you’d better hump it.”

They went back into the living room, but Steve burst in before they made it across the rug. He pointed a finger at Katherine, then closed his hand into a fist. His lips were drawn, his face red. He pumped his hand, as if trying to control his temper.

“What is it?” Hunt asked.

Steve cut his eyes to Hunt. His words were clipped, and he stabbed a finger toward the street. “That little shit stole my gun, too.”

Ten minutes later, Hunt had been through every room in Freemantle’s house. He called Yoakum from the living room. “I missed him.”

“Any sign he was there?”

Hunt stepped onto Freemantle’s porch and fingered the torn, yellow tape. Up the street, dogs howled. “Tape’s down. Door’s open.”

“Should we put an all-points on the truck?”

Hunt considered. “What if Joh

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“But what if? What if we put out an all-points and the wrong cop finds him?”

“You think we should keep this quiet?”

“I don’t know. Thinking this way feels twenty kinds of wrong.”

“I’m with you. Hang on a sec. What?” The phone was muffled. Hunt heard muted voices, then Yoakum was back. “Aw, shit.”

“What?”

“Cross says he already called it in.”

“Nobody authorized that.”

“He says a runaway kid in a stolen truck carrying a stolen gun is a no-brainer. Frankly, I can’t disagree with him, especially since…”

Yoakum paused and Hunt imagined him stepping away from Katherine. “Since what?”

A door closed. Yoakum spoke in a whisper. “Since he’s out looking for a stone-cold killer.”

Joh

“You’ll see.” Headlights cut into the darkness. Feathers of pine reached in and turned from black to green. Sap glistened on knotted trunks, then winked out as they passed.

They bounced through ruts and deep gouges made by spring rains. When they came out of the woods and into the abandoned fields, the sky opened above them: high, lonely stars and a trace of moon behind tissue clouds. “This was a plantation once,” Joh

“Yeah?”

“It’s overgrown now. I found it six months ago.”

The barn loomed ahead, a wall of grayed-out logs on a foundation of chiseled granite. Milkweed rose, pink and green, and fingers of ivy clawed up the length of the back corner. Black showed where chinking had crumbled to dust. Joh

Jack switched off the engine and the headlights winked out. The night collapsed to a twitching beam of light that flashed on white skin, wide eyes, and filthy clothes. “Ken’s house is that way.” Joh

“How’d you find all this?”

Joh

“About the snakes-”

“Hold this.” Joh

“I’ll take the mosquitoes.”

“Me, too.”

Jack put the light on the blue pack. “What’s that?”

“Let’s make a fire.” Joh

“I’m not going to burn in hell, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Jack’s small arm moved. He pointed at the fire. “What are you doing, Joh

“It’s just a book.”

“You take that back.”

Joh

“I think I might be sick.”

“Well, go over there if you’re going to do it.” Joh

Jack closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he looked better, less green. When he spoke, Joh

An eddy of smoke wafted against Joh

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Joh