The Last Child

“Did you read the reports on the stolen plates?” Hunt asked.

“What?”

“License plates.”

“I read it. So?”

“Whoever Joh

Something shifted at the back of Hunt’s mind and Yoakum saw it.

“What?”

“Two of the plates were stolen from cars parked at the mall.”

“It’s a good place to steal plates.”

“So is the airport, the hospital, or a dozen different strip malls.”

Their eyes met, and both had the same thought at the same time. Cuffs. Guns. Uniform.

Security guard.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Joh

“Thank you.”

Joh

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

For ten minutes Jack had stood with the gun raised. When he finally lowered it, only Joh

In a way, Joh

So he dug and he hurt. He thought about the things that David Wilson said at the bridge: I found her. The girl that was taken. Joh

He’d come after.

If Freemantle found David Wilson alive, then maybe Wilson told him where he’d found the girl. Maybe Freemantle knew.

Joh

Maybe.

Joh

Maybe.

After more than an hour, two crows landed on a low branch of the oak tree that stood at the center of the cemetery. Joh

There were words in the scream, Joh

Joh

Two more crows landed in the trees, then another three. Joh

Joh

The blade bit.

He shoveled hot, sandy earth as storm clouds massed over crow-flecked trees.

When Joh

The hole was not as deep as it might be, but it was the right size, the right shape. “That’s all I’ve got,” Joh

“I have rope.” Freemantle gestured at the coffin.

“All right.”

They moved the coffin to the edge of the grave. Once there, they slipped rope through the small metal handles and worked the coffin down. It looked pitiful in the raw, rough hole. The ropes came out with a rasping sound, and Freemantle folded them together, big hands deft but slow. “I’d like to do this last part by myself.” He ducked his head. “Barn’s dry if you want to lay up.” Freemantle looked at the compressed, purple sky, the leaves gone silver. “She never did like storms.” He turned back, lifted the shovel and a yellow light pulsed in the belly of the clouds.

“Lightning,” Joh

But the big man did not hurry. He dropped a handful of earth into the grave. Leaves clattered in the wind. “Lightning falls.” He dropped more earth on his daughter’s coffin. The wind grew. Jack was already through the gate, but Joh

“Is that right?”

Freemantle nodded. “Not like the other voice.”

“Other voice?”

“Like chocolate gone soft in the sun. Sticky sweet. Hard to swallow away.” He looked up at the storm. “I hear him when the crows come close.”

Freemantle hefted a stone and threw it at a group of crows in the low branches of the oak tree. He came close, then paused for a long time, and Joh

The grief was tangible. The loss.

“Here. Wait.” Joh

The big man stood, solemn and tense, good eye moving from the scarred bark to the boy. “Black magic.”

“No.”

“Says who?”

“The Celts. They’re dead now. A long time dead.”

“How you know it works if all them Celts is dead?”

“I read it somewhere. It’s not important.”

Freemantle shook his head, doubt all over his tortured face. “Lightning falls,” he said again. “All you can do is pray God it don’t fall on you.” He faced the mound of fresh-dug earth. “She should have words as the dirt goes in.” He turned, face full of hope and inexplicable trust. “Do you have a Bible?”

“I don’t.” Suddenly, Joh

A burst of rain hissed in the treetops. Freemantle’s face twisted in relief as Joh

Cold rain fell hard.

“… hallowed be thy name.”

Levi Freemantle wept as he buried his daughter.