“Let’s get moving.”
Jack had the Monte Carlo’s engine running and the passenger door open for Sam by the time he came down the walk..
They drove slowly toward the freeway and the feeder lane. The sidewalks were empty. More and more lights came on inside the houses. Sam saw that Jack was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I don’t see him,” Jack said twice within a minute.
“Let’s go around the block,” Sam suggested.
Jack turned before they reached the freeway and drove down a street shrouded in darkness. Jack drove even slower until they were barely creeping along to the corner. Still no one was to be seen on the street.
After circling the block where they lived, Jack drove in ever-widening circles. “Maybe we missed him and he’s already home,” he suggested hopefully.
“Should we go check?” Sam knew that was exactly what they should do.
Jack deliberated for a minute, then swung the wheel into a U-turn. “Yeah, we’ll go back. He’s probably sitting there waiting for me. ”
But Willie was not.
“Dammit, Sam. What could have happened?” Jack hurried as the they returned to the car to begin the search again.
“Take it easy, Jack. The boy’s smart. He knows he might get his tail whipped for this and he’s probably skedaddling as fast as he can to get here. He might really have some ‘hideout’ and didn’t notice how late it was. Maybe it’s a ways from the house. You know kids.”
Sam meant to be reassuring, but his words sounded lame even to his own ears.
“I never believed Willie could pull a stunt like this. What time is it?” Jack asked.
Sam consulted his watch as they pulled from the curb. “Eight-ten.”
Jack rubbed the back of his hand across the scar. He was perched on his seat like a stiff bird, his eyes searching both sides of the street. “We’ll go around the neighborhood once more then we’ll branch further out.” Jack coughed and cleared his throat. “I guess you think I’m acting silly, but you know yourself Willie doesn’t stay out. Not at night this way.”
Sam held his tongue. He did not blame Jack for the state he was in. If it was his kid, he would be worried too. Something was wrong and they both knew it. Neither of the men really believed Willie had forgotten the time or had not noticed it was dark. Something had delayed him. Something was keeping him from home.
The sirens came like an announcement of doom. Jack slammed the brakes and the two men were pitched forward in their seats. For a moment they were motionless, their ears attuned to the familiar sound. The two sirens grew louder. A third and a fourth siren joined in.
Jack’s eyes narrowed and he felt a shiver creeping up his spine. Willie. Sirens, trouble, Willie.
Sam broke the spell. He leaned toward the center of the dashboard and switched on the police scanner.
“I have a possible homicide corner of Hadley and Pearce. All available units respond,” came the dispatcher’s nasal twang.
Sam turned the radio off with a savage flick of his wrist. He looked over at his young friend. He did not have to second-guess Jack’s thoughts. Could it be Willie? Even if there was the remotest possibility, it was enough to turn a man’s blood to ice.
Sam put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We have to go to it,” he said.
One of the sirens neared and headlights rushed toward the Monte Carlo from the rear. A horn blared, but was drowned in the ear-shattering siren. The patrol car swerved around what it took to be a stalled vehicle in their lane and sped past. Sam was shaking Jack roughly.
“Come on, Jack. We have to roll on it!”
Jack pressed the accelerator and they pursued the dwindling red taillights of the patrol car. They ran through stop signs and shot across empty intersections. Sam held onto the door rest and the edge of the seat.
Jack’s lips moved in silent prayer. He had lost his nerve when he had heard the sirens, but he was being ridiculous. Wasn’t he? This had nothing to do with Willie being late. How many sirens had he heard in his lifetime? Yet no matter how he argued with himself, the shiver remained, chilling him all the way through.
The police car stopped. As Jack pulled up behind it, two doors swung open and the driver unsnapped his holster to place his hand on his gun.
Jack killed the headlights and turned off the ignition. . Sam was already out of the car and standing by the fender, looking toward the men and flashlights clustered on a demolition site.
Jack slowly got out of the car. He felt drained. Never in his life had he felt so frightened, so utterly vulnerable.
Men rushed everywhere, a swirl of endless activity. Squawk boxes sounded off and blue bubble lights whirled. Voices were raised and orders given and carried out.
Sam turned and took Jack by the shoulders. “Let me see about this. Stay here and let me go.”
“What if it’s…?”
Sam shook the young father by the arms before he knew he was doing it. “No! Just stay put and I’l1 find out what’s going on.”
“Not Willie…” Jack’s voice trailed away.
Sam clenched his teeth. “Of course not.” His gruff tone was as severe as he could make it. He left Jack and entered the bright circle of light a few yards away.
“I’m sorry, sir, but if you’ll just move back. This is a police matter…” The patrolman’s voice trailed at the look of authority on Sam’s face.
“I’m Bartholomew, detective sergeant, retired.” The name registered immediately, and the patrolman stepped backward at once. He stuttered apologetically, but Sam ignored him.
A plainclothes detective came toward Sam with an outstretched hand. “Sam! What the hell are you doing here?” Lieutenant “Garbo” Kranz asked with a bit of awe in his voice.
Sam ignored the question. “What have you got?” he asked.
Garbo had to catch up with Sam to answer. “It’s a kid,” he said, walking beside the older man. “Messy thing. We got an anonymous call. Body in a lot. Well, we found the body all right, but…”
“Boy or girl?” Sam interrupted, his heart almost stopping at the mention of a child.
Garbo showed his displeasure at the interruption by a down-turning of his mouth. “Boy. I’d say about ten or so.”
“Let me see him.”
“But Sam…”
“I said take me to him, you son of a bitch!”
Garbo was astonished. He had never worked with Sam Bartholomew, but he knew the man’s reputation as a tough old buzzard. And here he was calling an officer in charge a son of a bitch and demanding to be led to the crime scene. Incredible gall.
“Who do you think you’re talking to, Sergeant?”
“I thought I was talking to a responsible commander in charge of homicide, but if you’re any indication of the competence of this force lately, then the whole city’s in a peck of trouble.”
Sam knew he was lashing out at the officer unfairly, but the body must be only a few feet away from where they stood, and he had to get to it.
Garbo stared hard at Sam for a moment, then he sighed and led Sam to the body.
The first thing Sam’s trained, observant eyes took in was the seemingly mindless activity of two blue suits on their knees in the tall, parched winter grass. They looked comical with their asses arched high in the air, heads lowered almost to the ground. They were knocking aimlessly at loose boards and clumps of weeds. “What in God’s name have you got your men doing?”
Garbo gave a strangely soft reply. “They’re looking for something.”
“The murder weapon?”
“No. They’re looking for the boy’s head.”
The blunt words stopped Sam dead in his tracks. His heart jumped so suddenly that Sam felt a moment of searing pain.
Garbo felt, rather than saw, Sam’s reaction. He waited near one of his men, who scrabbled through debris at his feet. “Well, you wanted to see the body, didn’t you? Isn’t that what you got so hot about, Bartholomew? It’s over here and it’s decapitated. Maybe with your renowned expertise we can get this cleared up before the night’s over. Our problem happens to be two-pronged, however. We can’t seem to find the kid’s head, and without the head we can’t make an ID. Bit of a sticky wicket even for you, don’t you agree?”