The Last Child

Levi Freemantle sat in the center, legs splayed in front of him. His clothes were filthy and torn. Blood smears showed at the knees and in the creases of his hands, a stain of it on the right side of his shirt and pants. One shoe was off, spilled over in the bright, clean grass. His foot and ankle were swollen to the point that they seemed to be a single, fused appendage. His finger was ripe with infection from Joh

“What’s he doing?”

Joh

“Oh, shit.”

“And crying like a fifth-grade girl.”

Jack closed his eyes. Joh

I have the gun.

He started to stand, but Jack pulled him down. “Don’t do it.” Jack squeezed harder, begged. “Don’t do it, man.”

“The fuck’s wrong with you, Jack?” Joh

Jack’s terror was as plain on his face as the dirt. His whole body shook, but he nodded and lowered his hand. “Okay, Joh

“I don’t have a choice.”

“I said, okay.”

For a second, Joh

Freemantle held his bad foot off the ground so that the shovel supported much of his weight. His tears were unabashed, and Joh

He fell.

Climbed back to his feet.

Tried again.

Joh

Freemantle did as he was told, then raised a hand, palm up and flat. He gestured to the place where he’d scraped in the dirt, then finally looked at the gun. He looked at it for a long time, like he wasn’t sure what it was or why it was pointed at his chest. When he spoke, his words were thick. “Did you come to help me?”

“What?”

“I been asking for help, but he won’t talk to me.”

“Who?”

“Is he talking to you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The scars twisted on his face. One eye had a milky lens at its center. “I can’t make the hole.”

Joh

A nod. “You was ru

“Why?’

“God said.”

“God said to pick me up?” Another nod. “Why?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Joh

It was Jack, but Joh

“She’s my baby.” Freemantle pointed at the coffin. On his ruined face the tears gathered and fell. “I can’t make the hole.”

Joh

Then he lowered the gun.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Cross drove with a deft hand through the outskirts of town, then north. Hunt watched neighborhoods slide by, then light industrial. His thoughts were neither of the discovered car nor of David Wilson, but of the seven small flags, and of Alyssa Merrimon. He could not shake the thought of her under that damp earth. Her young life ended, her family destroyed. Thoughts descended, too, of Hunt’s own hell: a year of sleepless nights and anguish, twelve months of failure, his own family gone to ruin. All that time, and he’d never been able to let go. What was job? What was personal?

When his phone rang, he looked at caller ID and it felt prophetic. “Hello, Katherine.”

“Any word on Joh

“No. Nothing.”

“He should have called by now. Joh

“We have units out looking for him. He’s a smart kid. We’ll find him.” He paused, aware of Cross in the car. “I’m sorry I haven’t come by to discuss this in person. I would have, but…”

“He should have called.”

“Katherine?” Concern was in his voice. She picked up on it.

“It was a bad night,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m better now, but I need my son home.”

“We’ll find him,” Hunt said.

She hesitated, and when she spoke, her voice came powder soft. “If you promise me, I’ll believe you.”

Hunt understood the desperation those words implied. He closed his eyes and pictured her in that house. She sat on Joh

“Swear it.”

“We’ll find him.”

“Thank you, Detective.” Her breath traveled down the line. “Thank you, Clyde.” She hung up, and Hunt closed the phone. He rubbed his eyes and felt grit beneath the lids.

Cross passed a car, then eased right. “Joh

“Yes.”

They drove on, left the business district behind, and rolled into open country. Cross kept his hand steady on the wheel. He cleared his throat. “You should know that rumors are flying.” Hunt stared at him. “At the station,” Cross continued. “People are talking.”

“What rumors?”

“That you think a cop’s involved with Burton Jarvis. Involved with these dead kids. Maybe with Alyssa Merrimon.”

“Rumors can be dangerous things.”

“I’m just saying-”

“I understand what you’re saying.”

A hundred yards flowed under the tires. When Cross spoke, it was with care. “The Chief told the office staff not to let you anywhere near the perso

Hunt watched the grass, the sky. He thought of the many ways he’d like to punish the Chief. “Do we have somebody at David Wilson’s car?”

“It’s in the county, so we had to bring in the sheriff. One of his deputies is on site. He knows better than to touch it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Not much farther.”

The vehicle was a late-model Toyota Land Cruiser, black. It was angled, nose-down, in a rocky, brush-choked ravine that had to be thirty feet deep. The trailer was still attached, though it had twisted sideways and jackknifed onto the roof. “Has anybody been down there?”

The deputy shook his head. “Sheriff said to cooperate, so that’s what I’m doing. Nobody’s been down there.”

Hunt surveyed the route down. It was loose rock and thin soil. Trees grew along the lip, weeds and brush. “You have rope in the trunk, Cross?”

“Yes.”