“They'll find them, Tess,” Allen assured her.
Jay and Rose walked into the room together. Jay looked concerned, but was keeping it together for his family. Tess and Allen stood. Jay hurried to his wife and put his arms around her.
“Why doesn't he call to let us know he's okay?” Tess sobbed.
“Because he doesn't know we think he's missing,” Jay replied. He stepped back and wiped the tears from his wife's cheeks. “He'll walk through that door any minute and I'll yell at him for pulling such a stupid stunt.”
Allen turned to Rose. “Anything?”
Rose shook his head. “Officers are going door to door with photos Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Dutcher provided. We've put out a BOLO and sent copies of the photos to surrounding departments.”
“What are your thoughts?” Allen asked.
“The same as Mr. Palmer's—they'll walk through the door any minute.”
“Because that's how it usually ends?”
“Yes, that's how it almost always ends.”
“Should I be out driving around looking for them?” Jay asked Rose.
“No,” Rose replied. “We'd rather both you and the Dutchers stay at home, just in case the boys show up, or call.”
“I feel like I should be doing something,” said Jay.
“I should have gotten him a cell phone,” Tess said again.
“Stop, Tess,” Jay said. “A cell phone has nothing to do with this.”
“If he had one, I could call him.”
“If he's farting around and doing something he doesn't want us to know about, he wouldn't answer the phone anyway.”
“That cop kept asking me if Jacob had ever run away before,” Tess said. “He asked me if we had been in an argument, or if you or I had yelled at Jacob for anything, like it was our fault.”
“I apologize for that, ma'am,” Rose said, “but we have to cover all the bases.”
“They don't know us, Tess,” Jay explained. “They have to ask.”
Tess sat back down in the chair and hugged her baby. “Where are you?” she whispered to herself.
Jim Tucker stuck his head through the door; he was in uniform. He glared at Allen for a second, and then his eyes went to Rose. “Can I talk to you outside for a second?” he asked.
“What is it?” Jay asked.
Tucker ignored the question.
Rose went for the door, and Allen and Jay followed.
“Stay with Tess,” Allen said. “I'll let you know what they say.”
Jay stopped in his tracks. “Thanks, Allen.”
The three men walked to the middle of the parking lot, stopping for a second to let a state trooper car pass. The trooper pulled onto Long Sands Road, hit his lights, and floored it.
“Where's he going?” Allen asked.
“Where are you going?” Tucker shot back.
“Following you, to hear what's going on.”
“Why don't you just run along up to your room, and let—”
“Knock it off, Tuck,” Rose scolded. “What's going on?”
“We have a body,” Tucker replied. “In the woods behind the elementary school. Some guy was riding his mountain bike out there and came across the body.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Rose.
“Is it Jacob … or Oliver?” Allen asked.
“Don't know yet, the body was pretty beat up. The coroner and the state's CSI team are on their way. They've detained the guy who discovered the body.”
“Lacey!” Rose shouted to the female officer who had been with Tess.
“Yeah, Sarge?” She hurried over to the three men.
“We've got a body,” Rose quietly told her.
“Shit.”
“I want you to go back inside and stay with the Palmers. When they ask why, tell them we went to check on a lead. No mention of the body.”
“Roger that, Sarge.” Lacie turned and jogged back into the Palmers, room.
“Come on,” said Rose. “The two of you can ride with me.”
“He's coming with us?” Tucker asked, nodding his head in Allen's direction.
“Don't worry, Tucker,” Allen said. “I'll be gone in a few days and things will be back to normal.”
Tucker grinned condescendingly. “Fuck you, Crane.”
“Your place or mine?” Allen turned toward the motel and hollered, “Donnie!”
“Yeah?”
“Frankie's in the Jeep. Can you grab him and bring him up to my room? The key's under the mat.”
“Sure thing!” Donnie hollered back.
Rose and Tucker climbed into the front seat of Rose's Crown Vic, and Allen jumped into the back seat.
“Can we turn on the siren?” Allen asked, just to annoy Tucker.
“Shut your mouth,” Tucker shot back.
“Let's try to be a little more professional, Tuck,” said Rose. He hit the gas and sped out of the parking lot.
“Sorry, Sarge, but the guy just irritates me.”
“I think what irritates you is that he's dating your old girlfriend,” Rose said.
“Not anymore,” Tucker said.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Allen asked.
“Yeah,” Rose said, “what's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you say something to Mya?” Allen asked.
“It's none of your business what goes on between me and Mya,” Tucker shot back.
Allen decided this was a conversation for another time, and closed his mouth.
Rose hung a left off Ridge Road onto the driveway that led up to the Coastal Ridge Elementary School. Tucker pointed to a dirt road, and Rose turned left. The dirt road led through the woods and around to the rear of the school, there sat a few old trucks, some construction equipment, and an old school bus. There were a few outbuildings and shipping containers that were being used for storage. Rose continued on around a corner, between a stack of cement blocks and a pile of dirt. Three police cruisers, an ambulance, and a station wagon from the County Coroner's Office sat near a trailhead that led into the woods. Parked on the trail, four or five feet past the tree line, was a white van. In black letters on the side of the van marked York County Crime Scene Unit.
Rose brought his vehicle to a stop near the ambulance and the three men climbed out. A man standing near the woods saw Rose and started walking toward them.
“What do we got, Bart?” Rose asked.
“A male victim between eleven and fourteen years of age. Massive head injuries. No sign of sexual assault. Coroner puts time of death between eight and eleven Friday night.”
“Any identification on the boy?” Rose asked.
“None. Something curious though.”
“what's that?”
“He was wearing only one sneaker.”
Rose sighed. “Let's have a look.”
Bart led the way. Allen didn't move.
“Come on,” Rose said.
“I-I don't want to.”
“You know the kid,” Rose insisted. “Come have a look and see if it's one of the boys.”
Allen took a deep breath. “Okay.”
The four men walked down the dirt path past the CSI van. They followed Bart another twenty-five yards and stopped. The dead boy lay under a blue plastic tarp. Several officers carefully navigated the area in search of clues.
Rose bent over and lifted the corner of the tarp.
Allen turned and hurried to the other side of the trail. He leaned against a pine tree, and threw up whatever was left in his stomach from lunch. He heaved a couple more times but nothing came up. Allen was grateful the call came before he'd eaten the pork roast.
“You okay?” Rose asked.
Allen nodded. “Yeah. Hold on.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Is it the Palmer boy?” Rose asked.
Allen shook his head. “No. It's Oliver Dutcher.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
By Monday afternoon Oliver's body had been released to the funeral hom
e. The autopsy showed that besides the head trauma, Oliver also had a broken left arm, a dislocated shoulder, and a broken ankle, as well as internal injuries. According to the coroner, whatever had happened to Oliver happened somewhere else, and his body was later dumped behind the elementary school.
Even in their shock and disbelief, the community of York rallied around the Dutcher family. Overnight, a makeshift memorial of flowers, stuffed animals, balloons, personal notes and signs, and photos sprang up at the elementary school, and grew daily. All over town Oliver was remembered as a bright, athletic kid, full of boyish mischief. His friends recalled he'd been a master at Fortnite and Minecraft; they'd miss his popular YouTube gaming channel on which, with snarky humor, he shared tips. Oliver had loved his mom and dad, doted on his pet box turtle, and adored his little brother.
Now a pall hung over the friendly tourist town; carefree children, formerly allowed to roam, were kept on a short tether.
The authorities labeled Jacob's disappearance an abduction, and he was believed to be in imminent danger. An AMBER alert had been issued by State Police and the Maine Association of Broadcasters. Additionally, fliers with a photograph and description of Jacob had been nailed, taped, and stapled to almost every sign, bulletin board, store window, and telephone pole in the area. The reward for any information leading to Jacob's whereabouts and return had grown to over ten thousand dollars—five thousand of that being Allen's. Volunteers from neighboring towns had organized search groups to comb the trails and vast acres of forest land. A special tip hotline had also been set up. A few sightings had been reported. A woman said she had seen Jacob at Dairy Queen in Wells. Another woman reported seeing him in Kittery. One crazy old man said he had a premonition that Jacob had been abducted by aliens. Hotlines bring out all the wackos.
Jay and Tess Palmer appeared on a local TV station Sunday evening asking for their son to contact them, and let them know he was okay. They even pleaded with unidentified abductors for his safe return.
Allen walked through the office door with Frankie on a leash. As he crossed the parking lot on his way to the grass, Donnie pulled in driving his Mini Cooper; he had a passenger. Allen unhooked Frankie, and the dog ran for the grass.
Donnie parked and got out of his car.
“How's it going out there?” Allen asked.
“We searched all morning at a place called Highland Farm Preserve,” Donnie answered. “Nothing.”
Donnie's passenger walked up to the two men. He nodded at Allen.
“Allen, this is Bill Rankins,” said Donnie. “He was my search partner this morning.”
“How's it going?” said Allen.
Bill shrugged. “I wish it was going better,” he said somberly. He glanced over at door number four. “That boy's poor parents.”
“We just came back so I could change my tennis shoes,” Donnie said. He lifted his mud soaked shoe to show Allen. “Then we're meeting on Jefferson Lane to search a wooded area between here and Kittery.”
“Frankie and I are headed to Portsmouth in a bit to put up fliers,” Allen said. “How long you think you're sticking around?”
“Until we know something,” Donnie replied. “I couldn't just leave without knowing.”
Allen nodded. “Cam and Mildred said the same thing. They went with a group to search some caves somewhere.”
Frankie finished his business and ran back to Allen. Donnie scratched the dog's head.
“I better get these shoes changed,” Donnie said.
“And Frankie and I better head to Portsmouth,” said Allen.
The three men parted, and Allen and Frankie jumped in Allen's Jeep. As Allen was about to pull out onto Long Sands Road, his cell phone rang.
“Hey, Mike. What's up?” Allen answered. He slid the shifter into park.
“Allen, just finished reading your manuscript. Fantastic. This is some of your best writing to date. We've definitely got a best seller here.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“How about if we shoot for a November release, right before the holidays?”
“Whatever you think, Mike. That's up to you.”
“What's the matter, pal? You sound down. Are you taking your medication? You're not drinking are you?”
“You're my publisher, Mike, not my shrink.”
“I'm also your cousin, Allen. What's wrong?”
Allen glanced over at the flier-filled manila envelope on his passenger seat. “It's a long story,” he said. “I gotta go, Mike. I'll call you later.”
“Sure thing, Allen. You take care of yourself.”
Allen hung up his cell phone and tossed it onto the envelope. Just as he was about to put the Jeep back in gear, someone knocked on his driver's side window.
“Jesus!” Allen said, almost jumping out of his skin.
“Roll down the window,” said Mya.
Allen rolled it down. “You scared the shit outta me,” he said.
“Sorry. Where ya headed?”
“Portsmouth.”
“Why?”
“Put up fliers.”
“You want some company?” She looked into the back seat. “I mean besides Frankie. Hey, boy.”
Frankie was trying to get his head between the window and Allen's seat.
“Sure, I'd like that,” Allen said. He reached down and pressed the button to unlock the doors. “Hop in.”
Mya walked around the Jeep and got in. She placed the envelope on her lap. Allen shifted into drive, and pulled out of the parking lot.
“I called you a bunch of times,” Allen said, figuring he might as well get it out there. “Left a few messages.”
“I know. I'm sorry.”
“So, what's going on? I thought we had a nice time on our date.”
“We did. I had a very nice time.”
“Then what's the problem?”
“It's complicated.”
“It's complicated? What is this, a Facebook status?”
“Don't make fun of me.”
“I'm not making fun of you. I just want to know why you seemed so interested in me … and then suddenly you didn't. Friday afternoon when we spoke on the beach, you said you had a great time. We kissed a few times. Had some laughs. I thought we were hitting it off. Well, were we or not?”
Mya didn't reply.
Allen brought the Jeep to a stop at the stop sign, then turned left to remain on Long Sands Road.
“Then you show up today and tell me once again that you had a very nice time. Now you're just sitting there, refusing to answer me. If you don't want to see me again, just say so.”
Allen looked over at Mya. She just stared out the front windshield at the road ahead.
“Is it Jim Tucker?” Allen asked. “Did he say something?”
Still nothing from Mya.
Allen played his trump card. “You told Harriet Rose that Tucker had anger and jealousy issues.”
“How do you know that?” Mya snapped.
“Harriet told me when I was over there for dinner. What's that all about?”
Mya took a deep breath and exhaled. “Jim stopped me on the street Friday afternoon when I was walking to work—right after you and I spoke.”
“Okay.”
“He asked me to get in the car. He said he would give me a ride the rest of the way. I told him I didn't think that was a good idea, and he said he just wanted to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“Us.”
“You and me?”
“Him and me. He told me he wanted to get back together and see if we could make it work.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him we had tried three times before, and that I didn't think it was a good idea. We just weren't meant to be together.”
“How did he respond?”
“He punched the roof of the car a bunch of times, and then punched the dashboard and steering wheel.”
“He didn't hit you, did he?”
“No, but he yelled
a lot. He kept asking me what was wrong with me that I couldn't see we were meant to be together.”
Allen shook his head. “What's wrong with you?” he repeated. “It doesn't seem like you're the problem. Why were you late for work?”
“Because he kept driving around. I was afraid to say anything until after he calmed down. Then I had him drop me off at my place and I drove to work.”
“So, you are afraid of him.”
“That's not what I meant.”
“Are you sure?” Allen turned left off Spur Road, and sped down the ramp, merging onto I-95 toward Portsmouth. “So, why shut me out?”
“Because … I don't know, I guess some of the things Jim was saying got to me.”
“What kind of things?”
“He asked why I was wasting my time with you when you're just going to be leaving York in a few days. He said I would end up with my heart broken.”
“Don't you think that's something you and I should discuss, not you and Tucker?”
“I know that, Allen. It's just that Jim has this way of getting into my head. He's very good at it.”
“I guess he is.”
“When he dropped me off at my place, I told him it was over, and that there was no chance he and I would be getting back together.”
“I guess that explains his mood Saturday night.”
“Why? What did he say?”
“Not much. It was just the way he said it.”
Mya reached over and laid her hand on Allen's thigh. “Let's stop talking about this.”
“Okay.”
She reached into the envelope and pulled out one of the fliers. “Ten thousand dollar reward?” she remarked.
“It's actually a little higher now I think, but the fliers were already printed.”
Mya read down through the flier, reading Jacob's description aloud. “This kid looks so familiar to me, but I just can't place him.”
“Yeah, you said that the other night. Maybe his family came to the restaurant one night.”
Mya shoved the flier back in the envelope. “Yeah, maybe.”
Five minutes later Allen veered off the highway at exit seven. At the end of the ramp he hung a left onto Market Street.
“I've never been to Portsmouth in my life,” Allen said. “Where would you say is the best area to put up these fliers?”
“Keep going straight up here,” Mya instructed. “Probably Congress Street and State Street would be a good start. There's a lot of restaurants and shops on those two streets.”
The Maine Events Page 19
