The Last Child

“No.”

“All this time, Yoak. All this time and I’ve never seen you do personal. Today looked personal.”

“A killer came after my partner with an ax. He came after my friend. You could call that personal, but you could call that the job, too. Now, what did you tell them?”

Hunt hesitated.

“Did you tell them it was a clean shoot?”

“We stuck to the facts. They asked for my opinion, but I didn’t give it.”

“But you will.

“Tomorrow,” Hunt said. “Tomorrow, I will.”

“And what will you tell them?”

Hunt reached for the scotch. In the low, cut-crystal glass, a small light kindled in the liquid. He replayed the moment in his mind, the ax starting down, Yoakum stepping into the room. What had his angle looked like? Did he have to take the kill shot? The computer was off to the side, but by how much? Hunt put himself in Yoakum’s shoes. He thought he could see it, the way it could have looked.

But Yoakum spoke before Hunt could. “Have you filed that obstruction charge against Ken Holloway?”

In the aftermath of Meechum’s shooting, Hunt had almost forgotten about Holloway’s phone call. “No,” he said.

“But you will?”

“I will.”

A silence invaded the line, and it was an ugly one. Hunt knocked back the scotch. He knew where this could go, and prayed that it would not.

“None of this would have gone down if we’d left Holloway out of it,” Yoakum finally said. “We’d have taken Meechum clean at the mall. No shooting. No burned discs. That was you, Clyde, your call. That was personal.”

The phone seemed to hum in Hunt’s hand. “Good night, Yoakum.”

A heavy pause. “Good night, Clyde.”

The line went dead.

Hunt poured another scotch.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Freemantle stared at the gun. It shook in Joh

Jack pushed closer, alarmed. “Joh

“Where’s my sister?”

“I don’t know your sister.” An ember popped in the stove. “I don’t know you.”

Joh

Freemantle shrugged and looked. “I can’t read.”

“She was taken a year ago. That’s her name.”

“I don’t think he knows,” Jack said.

“He has to.”

“I would tell you if I knew.”

“He doesn’t know,” Jack said.

“Where did you get this?” Joh

Giant shoulders rolled, muscles tight under the skin. “I got that from broken man. Right after you bit me.”

“Who?”

“Broken man.” He said it like it was a name. “Broken man was by the bridge. I got that from broken man’s hand. He was holding it.”

The gun dipped. “After you picked me up?”

“God told me to see what you was ru

“David Wilson,” Joh

Freemantle’s head tilted, and he closed his eyes, thinking. “Put the gun down,” Jack whispered. Joh

Joh

Freemantle’s eyes stayed shut. “There was voices in the river. Whispers. Dandelion words.” He made a floating motion with his fingers. “I was so tired…”

“Voices?” Joh

“I don’t remember.”

“You have to.”

The big hands turned palm up. “The crows was coming. I was scared.” They were a foot apart, the boy, the man. “I’d tell you if I could.” Freemantle lay down on the warm stone. “Maybe I’ll know in the morning. That happens sometimes.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry about your sister. I’m done now.”

Joh

Joh

It was Jack who broke the silence. “Why is he scared of crows?”

“I think he hears the devil when the crows get close.”

“The devil?”

“He hears one voice. Why not the other?”

“What if it’s true?” Jack put his arms around his knees. He rocked on the trunk and couldn’t meet Joh

“He doesn’t.”

“But what if?”

“Nobody does.”

Jack pulled his knees tighter. Dirt rimed his face. “I don’t like crows, either. Been scared of them since I was little. What if that’s why?”

“Come on, Jack.”

“You know what they call a group of crows?” His voice was small and strained.

Joh

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” Jack looked at Freemantle. “What if God sent him here for a reason, too?”

“Look, Jack. This guy killed two people because they let his daughter die in a hot car. If thinking God told him to do it makes living with that fact any easier, then I guess that’s what he had to do. The crows, the other voice… that’s just guilty conscience catching up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” They both stared. “But he knows something.”

“I’m scared, Joh

Joh

“He knows something.”

Jack fell into a fitful sleep as wind sighed through the cracks, a small voice that, twice, gusted into something terrible. The fire burned low. Joh

For that instant, he did not know where he was or what had happened, but he knew that something was wrong. He felt it in the close, hot air.

Something was wrong.

Levi Freemantle sat in the dirt, cross-legged, not three feet away. He was sheeted with the same sweat, shadows gray on his black skin. His hands were cupped in his lap, the pistol in his hands. He was staring at it, tilting it toward the stove. His finger found the trigger.

“It’s loaded,” Joh

When Freemantle looked up, Joh

Freemantle ignored him. His hand swallowed the grip. “I got shot once.” Joh

“Who shot you?”

“My wife.”

“Why?”

He looked at the gun. “Just ’cause.”

“May I have that?” Joh

The muzzle was eighteen inches from Freemantle’s eyes.

“Where is she?” Louder. Twelve inches. Ten. The gun, this time, was deathly still, but Freemantle was as unconcerned as an ox facing a bolt gun.

“When she shot me.” His voice was low. “She said it’s ’cause I was stupid.”