the kid was reading the magazine,” Marie said. “And that’s why he didn’t notice the killer coming in. Or killers. We can’t rule out more than one.”
Shelby shook his head. “We need to call the SBI. Get a crime scene team in here. Meantime, we may have us a child kidnapped.”
“Shelby, you need to consider something,” Marie said. “Maybe the kid did it.”
Shelby looked pained. “Look,” Marie said. “I know it may be tough to think about, a child killing a parent…”
“Stepparent,” Shelby said. “The mother said the victim weren’t the natural father.” He grimaced. “But yeah, I already thought of that. Don’t like to think that way, but it’s surely possible.” He looked at Marie. “But if that boy is kidnapped and we don’t treat it that way…”
“Yeah,” Marie said. “You’re right. We’ll get crucified.” The uncomfortable look crossed Shelby’s face again. What is eating this guy? Marie wondered. “So,” she said after a moment. “You want to do an Amber Alert?”
Shelby pondered this for a moment. Amber Alert would put a statewide media notification, like that for a tornado or other natural disaster, onto hundreds of participating TV and radio stations. For a child under thirteen, when there was a possibility of stranger abduction or imminent harm, Amber Alert was automatic. For disappearances of children older than that, potential abductions were considered on a case-by-case basis. “No,” Shelby said, “not yet. We’ll keep lookin’ at ever’thing.” He looked at Marie, up and down. “Jones,” he said.
Marie shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Yes, sir…I mean, yeah?”
“My reg’lar partner’s out. He just had surgery. Prostate cancer.”
Marie was startled by the sudden change in subject. “Sorry to hear it.”
“He’ll be awright,” Shelby said. “They got it early. But he’ll be laid up for a while an’ I’m a little shorthanded right now. Y’want to work this one with me?”
Would I? Marie thought. Work a murder, possible kidnapping? She had been waiting to sit for the sergeant’s exam before the death of her partner had derailed her career, and suddenly a whole new path had opened up for her. Her heart leaped for a moment. Then it came back to earth as she looked at the mother weeping in the back of Shelby’s car. She felt a momentary flash of shame.
“Yeah,” she told Shelby. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
He nodded. “I’ll talk to the major and set it up.”
Marie grimaced. “He’s not going to be happy with that. He’s a real bear about overtime.”
Shelby gave her that snaggletoothed grin again. “He’ll get over it. He owes me.”
“Okay,” she said. She took a business card out of her pocket and scribbled a number on it. “Here’s my cell number,” she said.
“Good,” he said. His face turned serious. “But Jones, I want to ask you something.”
“Okay,” Marie said, her eyes wary. Now the catch, she thought.
“Could you not take the Lord’s name in vain in front of me?” Shelby asked.
Marie was struck dumb for a moment. Shelby went on resolutely.
“I know you get used to rough language in law enforcement,” he said. “Before I got saved, I was guilty of it myself. But I’d really appreciate it.”
Marie finally found her voice. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry, I didn’t know—”
Shelby waved it off. “I know. I don’t blame you for it, it’d just make it easier for us to work together, y’understand.”
“Sure,” Marie said. “No problem. I mean, I’ll try … ”
He nodded, looking satisfied. “That’s all any of us can do, Marie,” he said. His face lit up with a sudden idea. “Hey,” he said. “Whyn’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night? Barbara can make up some of her fried chicken. There’s plenty.”
“Ahh … I was going to see my, ah, boyfriend tomorrow night.” Boyfriend. The word still felt strange to Marie.
“Heck, bring him, too,” Shelby said. “Barbara always makes enough to feed a platoon.”
She smiled. “He’s in Wilmington,” she said, “but maybe I could persuade him to come up.” “Six-thirty, then,” he said. “And come hungry.”
They loaded the weapons in the back of the cargo van. Laurel and Roy climbed in the front. Stan climbed into the cargo compartment through the sliding side doors. He noticed a pair of sleeping bags and a cooler shoved up against the back. He crawled over and propped his back against them. It was hard to see from there, and he couldn’t hear what Roy and Laurel were saying. He was left curled up in the back with his thoughts.
Stan’s head throbbed with fear and confusion. He was still scared to death. He didn’t know what these people were planning to do with him. But Laurel actually seemed to like him.
He stared, fascinated, at the blanket-covered guns on the floor. He could grab one of them, but he didn’t know whether there were any bullets in them. And Laurel still had the gun in her purse. The one that had killed his stepfather. A tremor went through him at that memory. He had hated and feared the man, but the thought of him lying dead on the floor of his service station made Stan feel sick to his stomach.
He looked up toward the front. Laurel was saying something to Roy in the driver’s seat. She made a small gesture toward the back of the van and Stan realized she was talking about him. He felt sick again. Roy obviously regarded him as a possible liability. And Roy didn’t seem to have any more scruples about killing than Laurel did. Stan closed his eyes and prayed. He had had his doubts about God, especially when his stepfather had beaten him, but now he prayed for all he was worth.
He heard a rustling sound next to him and opened his eyes. Laurel had climbed over the front seat and was sitting next to him. She was holding a joint in one hand. “Are you scared, Stan?” she said softly.
Stan nodded, unable to speak.
She put an arm around him. He felt the heat of her body as she shifted herself closer to him. She put the joint between her lips and lit it with her free hand. She took a long drag and held the smoke in before passing it to him. “‘Ere,” she said, her voice tight with the effort of holding in the smoke.
He took the joint and inhaled deeply. There was an unfamiliar, sharp taste mixed in with the familiar taste of the pot. He grimaced and passed it back to her. She flipped it around and placed the lit end in her mouth, tightening her lips to hold the burning ash away from her tongue. She leaned toward him. He followed suit until their faces were inches apart. She began to exhale, slowly and evenly. He pursed his own lips and took in the steady stream of smoke that she forced out of the loosely twisted end of the joint. He shotgunned the smoke until he thought his lungs would burst, then pulled away. She flipped it out of her mouth and took her own turn. She
