The Last Child

Joh

“He was a brave man,” Hunt said.

“And Jarvis killed him?”

“We think so.” Hunt looked from mother to son. So alike. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“Can you give us a minute?” Katherine asked.

“Of course,” Hunt said, and left.

They watched him disappear around the house, and Katherine moved closer to her son. Joh

“He didn’t leave us,” she whispered.

She swiped at her eyes, repeated herself, and then Joh

He didn’t leave us.

Something vast and unspoken passed between them, and they shared that silent communion until footsteps stirred in the woods and Jack stepped off the trail. He was muddy, as if he’d fallen in the creek. He looked very small, and his eyes darted from the house to the sky before he saw them, sitting so still in the shade. He stumbled as he walked, then stopped five feet away. Joh

“I know where she is,” he said.

Nobody moved, and Jack swallowed hard.

“I know where she is.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Hunt was doubtful. He stared down, but Jack was resolute. “It was the last thing Freemantle said.”

“Tell me again.” Hunt crossed his arms. They were still in the backyard, out of sight near the woods. Katherine was in shock. Joh

“He was asleep in the barn and then he woke up and went outside. I followed him.” Jack looked at Joh

“But not to the house,” Hunt said.

“I was scared.” Jack said nothing of the birds. He did not mention the way they carpeted the roof of the barn, intent and unmoving. His fear of the crows was too much, too personal.

Hunt shook his head. “He could have been talking about anything.”

Katherine held her son tight, but Joh

“You’ve told me your story,” Hunt said. “Right now, I’m talking to Jack.” He gestured at the boy. “Did he mention Alyssa by name?”

“No.”

“Tell me exactly what he said.”

Jack looked from Hunt to Joh

“Word for word, Jack. That’s how I want it.”

Jack stammered once, then got it. “She’s in the North Crozet Shaft.”

“And you know for certain-”

“He was talking about Alyssa,” Joh

Hunt frowned. “You also said that he heard God’s voice in his head. You see my problem.”

“We have to try.”

Hunt knew about the North Crozet Shaft. They all did. It was the last of the great gold mines, the richest ever worked in Raven County. Dug in the early 1800s by a Frenchman named Jean Crozet, it was a vertical shaft that plummeted seven hundred feet, straight down before branching out to follow the course of the vein. It was located in a barren patch of woods in a far northern part of the county. Hunt had toured the area once and remembered tall trees and granite outcrops, dynamite rooms built into the hillsides, and the shafts, lots of shafts. Of all the shafts-and there were dozens-North Crozet was the deepest and the most storied. In continuous operation for two decades, it killed four men and yielded the greatest fortune ever dug from North Carolina soil. Jean Crozet was a local legend. Streets were named for him, a wing of the library.

The whole area had once been open to the public as a historic site, but the state closed it down three years ago when shafts began collapsing and a geologist from Chapel Hill declared the entire area unsafe. North Crozet Shaft was not far from where they’d found David Wilson’s body. From the shaft to the bridge was twelve minutes at high speed. Maybe fifteen. Hunt looked at the sky. The sun would be down in four hours. “It’s late,” he began.

But Katherine placed a hand on his arm. “Please.”

Hunt hesitated.

“Please.”

He looked away from the desperation in her eyes. He saw the medical examiner exit the house and said, “Wait here.” He cornered Trenton Moore in a patch of sun at the side of the house. “David Wilson,” he began. “You said he was climber.”

Moore squinted, shifting gears from one case to another. “Everything was consistent with that.”

“Could he get the same physical characteristics from caving? The fingertips? The musculature?”

“Spelunking? Sure. A lot of climbers get into caving. Different world, different challenge.” He shrugged. “Climbers go up, cavers go down. It’s all climbing.”

Hunt returned to the small, anxious group by the trees. He looked at the sky, then at his watch. Katherine, he could tell, was trying not to beg. Joh

“What about me?” Jack asked.

“I’ve called your father. He’s on his way here.”

“I don’t want to see my father.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hunt said. “He’s very angry. Your mother has been distraught.”

“You don’t understand.” Jack tried again.

“I’ll put you in a cruiser if I have to. Do I need to do that?”

Jack went from frightened to sullen. “No.”

“Then stay.”

He said it like he was talking to a dog.

Jack watched them go. Joh

He knew what was coming and he couldn’t handle it.

Not just now.

Not sober.

Joh

Not much chance of a happy ending.

He slowed as they crossed the bridge where David Wilson had been killed. Joh

Hunt turned onto a narrow state road and crossed a single-lane bridge that spa

“Almost there,” he said.

Katherine squeezed her son.