“Does Erick have a history of being involved in neo-Nazi or any extremist groups?”
“My God, no,” Larry muttered as if exhausted by the familiar question.
“This is all just crazy,” said Emma. “He’s a good boy. Oh, he’s had a little trouble like everybody. Some drug stuff after, well, after what happened, it’s understandable. Just tried ’em is all. The school called. No police. They were good about that.”
Larry grimaced. “Pierce County, Tacoma? The meth and drug capital of the state. You should read the stories in the paper. Forty percent of all the meth in Washington is produced here.”
Shaw nodded. “Was that what Erick did?”
“No, some of that oxy stuff. Just for a while. He took antidepressants too. Still does.”
“You said ‘after what happened.’ After what?”
They looked at each other. “We lost our younger boy sixteen months ago.”
“Drugs?”
Emma’s hand, resting on her thigh, closed into a fist, bundling the cloth below her fingers. “No. Was on his bike, hit by somebody who was drunk. My, it was hard. So hard. But it hit Erick in particular. It changed him. They were close.”
Brothers, Shaw thought, understanding the complex feelings the word implied.
Larry said, “But he wouldn’t do anything hurtful. Never anything bad. He never has. ’Cepting for the church.”
His wife snapped, “Which he didn’t do. You know he didn’t.”
“I meant what they claimed he did.” Larry fell silent.
“Does Erick own a weapon? Have access to one?”
“No.”
Shaw asked, “So his friend had the gun. Adam.”
Larry: “Friend? He wasn’t a friend. We never heard of him.”
Emma’s ruddy fingers twined the dress again. “He’s the one did it. I told the police. We both did. Adam kidnapped him. I’m sure that’s what happened. He had a gun—he shot those fellows and made Erick come with him. He was going to take his car, rob him.”
“They took Adam’s truck, though, not Erick’s.”
No response to that obvious observation.
“He had his own bank account?”
The boy’s father said, “Yes.”
So they wouldn’t know about withdrawals. The police could get that information, what branches he’d been to. Probably already had.
“You know how much money he has? Enough to get very far?”
“Couple thousand, maybe.”
Shaw had been examining the room, observing mostly the pictures of the Youngs’ two boys. Erick was a handsome young man with bushy brown hair and an easy smile. Shaw had also seen pictures of Adam Harper, posted as part of the reward announcement. There were no mug shots, though in both of the photos included in the reward announcement he was looking into the camera with caution. The young man, whose crew cut was blond with blue highlights, was gaunt. He was seven years Erick’s senior.
“I’m going to pursue this, try to find your son.”
Larry said, “Oh, sure. Please. You’re nothing like that big guy.”
“Didn’t like him one bit,” Emma muttered.
“Dalton Crowe?”
“That was his name. I told him to leave it be. I wasn’t going to pay him any reward. He laughed and said I could stuff it. He was going after the bigger one anyway, you know—the fifty thousand the county offered.”
“When was he here?”
“Couple days ago.”
In his notebook Shaw wrote, D.C. present at offerors’ house. June 9.
“Now, let me tell you how I approach this. It won’t cost you anything unless I find Erick. No expenses. If I find him, you’ll owe me that nine hundred dollars.”
Larry said, “It’s a thousand sixty now. One of my cousins came through. Wish it was more, but . . .”
“I know you’ll want me to talk to him and bring him home to you. But that’s not my job. He’s a fugitive and I would be breaking the law if I did that.”
“Aiding and abetting,” Emma said. “I watch all the crime shows.”
Colter Shaw tended not to smile, but when meeting offerors, he occasionally did, to put them at ease. “I don’t apprehend. I deal in information, not citizen’s arrests. But if I can find him, I won’t let the police know where he is until there’s no chance he or anybody else’ll be hurt. You’ll get a lawyer. Do you know one?”
The regarded each other. “Fellow did our closing,” Larry said.
“No. A criminal lawyer. I’ll get you some names.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
Shaw reviewed his notes so far. His handwriting was small and had once been described as balletic, it was so beautifully drawn. This notebook wasn’t ruled. Shaw didn’t need guidance. Each line was perfectly horizontal.
For another twenty minutes Shaw asked questions and the couple responded. Over the course of the interview, he noted that their adamant view that their son was innocent was objective; they simply could not accept that the son they knew had committed the crime. It had to be Adam Harper. “Or,” Shaw had suggested, “someone else altogether.”
When he felt he had enough information for the moment, he put away the pen and notebook, rose and walked to the door. The parents agreed to send any new information they heard from the police or friends or relatives Erick had contacted for money or shelter.
“Thank you, sir,” Emma said at the doorway, debating hugging him, it seemed. She did not.
It was the husband who was choking up. He fumbled whatever he was going to say and just gripped Shaw’s hand. Larry turned back to the house before the first tear appeared.
As Shaw walked to the Winnebago, he was reflecting on the one subject he had not mentioned to Emma and Larry: his policy was not to accept a reward from family members if the search revealed that their missing loved one was dead. No reason to even bring up the possibility, more or less likely, that their second child had been murdered as soon as Adam found he had no more use for the boy.
To learn more about and order The Goodbye Man visit https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/598217/the-goodbye-man-by-jeffery-deaver/.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeffery Deaver is the #1 international bestselling and award-winning author of more than forty novels, three collections of short stories, and a nonfiction law book. His books are sold in 150 countries and translated into twenty-five languages. A former journalist, folksinger, and attorney, he was born outside of Chicago and has a bachelor of journalism degree from the University of Missouri and a law degree from Fordham University.
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The Second Hostage Page 5
