What Follows After

by Dan Walsh

  “I guess that can’t hurt.”

  So that’s what they did. And it paid off. Mr. Weldon was still outside, still walking the edge of his property. He had turned the corner, so they couldn’t see him around the hill. “Mr. Weldon,” Scott called out.

  Weldon turned, started walking in their direction. “Hey, Scott, can’t talk right now. Need to pay attention to these readings I’m taking.”

  “We won’t bother you then. Colt and I were just curious what you’re doing.”

  Weldon stopped walking when he got near them. “This is my new Bendix Radiation Kit. Bought it out of a catalog a few months ago. Hoped I’d never have to use it. Now it looks like I have to.”

  “Why now?” Colt said. The worried look had returned.

  “The Russians have called our bluff. They’re not stopping their ships. Which means they’re not stopping their work on those missiles in Cuba. Which means, we’re going to have to invade and make them stop. Which means . . . well, you know what it means. Those missiles will start firing off. Could be this afternoon, maybe tonight. Maybe in the morning. But I don’t see any way out of it now.”

  “So what’s this thing do?” Colt asked.

  “It measures radiation fallout.”

  “You think there’s radiation out here now?”

  “There’s always a certain amount of radiation going on,” Weldon said. “Most of it’s not harmful. So I’m out here measuring the background radiation, the normal kind. That way I’ll have an accurate reading once the missiles start going off. The wife and I can’t come out of our fallout shelter until the harmful levels come back down to normal.”

  “Makes sense,” Scott said. Of course, the whole thing sounded ridiculous and unreal.

  “You and the wife give any more thought to our offer? You know, to join us once it all starts to hit the fan?”

  “We did,” Scott said. “Gina’s just not sure she wants to go that route. She says she doesn’t want to live in a world after something like that happened. But thanks for the offer.”

  “I’d suggest you give it some more thought,” Weldon said. “Once things start boiling over, we’ll have to close the door on that thing for good.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Weldon,” Colt said. “But even if we wanted to, we could never go down there. Not without Timmy.”

  51

  This idea wasn’t panning out.

  Vic and Nate had been on the phone all day calling hospitals throughout the state of Florida, looking for the names of little boys Timmy’s age who had died over the past year. Then calling law enforcement personnel in the same area, giving them the names and addresses of their fathers. The leads given them by the officers and deputies who’d gotten back to them had all turned out to be dead ends.

  “I really thought this might turn up something useful,” Nate said.

  “It still might,” Vic said. “How many more hospitals you have left to call?”

  “Four.”

  “I have five. What do you say we call it a day, finish these in the morning?”

  “I say yeah. Let’s do that. You want to call the boy’s parents, give them an update?”

  Vic stared at the telephone. No, he didn’t. “Guess I better. Wish I had something positive to say.”

  “You’ll think of something.” Nate pushed away from his desk and stood up. “Guess it wouldn’t help to point out the world hasn’t blown up yet.”

  Vic forced a smile. “Don’t think I’ll lead with that. But you go ahead. After this call, I’ll be right behind you.” He watched as Nate picked up his hat, put on his coat, then headed for the exit. He reached for the telephone and dialed the Harrisons’ number from memory.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Scott, this is Vic with the FBI.”

  “No, this is Mike. Scott’s brother-in-law. But he’s right here. Let me get him.”

  Vic waited a moment.

  “Hello, Vic, this is Scott. Any news? Please say yes.”

  Vic sighed.

  “Guess that’s my answer,” Scott said. “No leads from that new idea?”

  “Not yet. But we’re not done. I still have to hear back from quite a few law enforcement personnel. And Nate and I still have a number of hospitals to call tomorrow.”

  “I see.”

  “Remember, Scott, it’s not the quantity of leads we have that matters. We only need one that works. This is the nature of police work. It’s not like the movies. Someone comes up with an idea like Nate did, it generates a lot of work, you work it through over several days, hoping to turn up something solid. Lots of times, it does.”

  “I understand, Vic. Really, I appreciate all you guys are doing. I just wish there was something we could do. We feel so helpless over here. It’s been five days now. Feels like five weeks.”

  “Have you gotten any calls from the press? Newspapers or the local news?”

  “Not a single one.”

  Vic couldn’t believe it. He thought for sure they’d be hounded by the press. A kidnapped little boy? “It’s gotta be this Cuba deal. It’s got everybody totally preoccupied. Maybe when this whole thing blows over, this case will get the kind of attention it deserves.”

  “You think that’s going to happen?” Scott asked. “That it’s all going to blow over soon? Are you hearing something we’re not? My neighbor down the street’s measuring the air for radiation fallout. Of course, he’s definitely the Chicken Little type. But even from what I’m seeing in the newspaper and on the news, it looks pretty bleak.”

  Vic thought about his boss taking time off that morning to go to confession. And the overall mood in the Orlando office. “No, it looks pretty bleak from where I stand. I think the only thing that will stop the worst-case scenario is the same thing that’s stopped it from happening all along.”

  “M.A.D.,” Scott muttered.

  “Mutually Assured Destruction,” Vic said.

  “Nobody wins if everybody blows up,” Scott said. “That’s how a guy in our office summarized it.”

  “I like that. That’s what I’m counting on, Scott. I don’t have any inside FBI information. Seems to me right now, Kennedy and Khrushchev are like two hot-rodders playing chicken. Somebody’s gotta pull off to the side. But it’s getting close, I’m not gonna lie.”

  “I wish somebody would pull off to the side pretty quick,” Scott said. “So we could get more help finding Timmy.”

  You and me both, Vic thought. “But we’ll get right back on this tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  “Will you call me when you’re done with this thing, this new idea? Even if nothing pans out?”

  Vic dreaded the idea. “Of course I will. But let’s not give up yet. Only takes one lead that works, right?”

  Scott didn’t answer for a moment. “Right,” he finally said.

  52

  When Etta Mae arrived at Josephine’s house the next morning, Josephine had already positioned herself on the chair facing her next-door neighbor’s house. Already had her binoculars sitting on her lap. She’d told Etta Mae as soon as she came through the door that today something big was gonna happen. It had to, after God had gone to all that trouble to bring Etta Mae here. And she was sure that little boy she had seen for that ever-so-brief moment on the porch had to be Timmy.

  Sitting right beside her on a little table was that newspaper, folded so that Timmy’s picture was right on top.

  “You want me to start cleaning or making that pie?” Etta Mae said.

  “The cleaning can wait. You already made it nicer in here than I ever get it. Why don’t you get to work on that pie? The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can get it next door.”

  She said we, Etta Mae thought. What did she mean by that? Well of course, she couldn’t get over there by herself. With her on those crutches, Etta Mae would have to carry the pie.

  Etta Mae walked out into the kitchen, then turned toward the dining room. “Miss Josephine, you’ve got all the ingredients to make a pie here, except w
hat to put in it. Maybe before I get started, we should drive to the store. You could drop me off by the front door with a list, and I’ll get it all together for you. You won’t even have to get out of the car.”

  “Can’t you just go by yourself, so I can stay here and keep watch?”

  “I don’t have a car, remember? I came by the bus.”

  “You can take mine.”

  “Take yours?”

  “Can’t you drive?”

  “Well, yeah . . . I suppose.” Though she hadn’t driven a car since she was in her twenties. Besides that, what would some of these white folk around here think, ones who knew Josephine, when they saw a black woman driving her car without Josephine inside? Etta Mae explained all this to Josephine, but she kept her resolve.

  “If anyone bothers you about it, you tell them just to call me and I’ll straighten them out. But I don’t think anyone will give you any trouble. You might have to wade through some ugly looks and I’m sure you’ll catch a few people whispering behind your back. But that’s about all.”

  Etta Mae figured she could deal with that well enough, if that was all there was. “Is your car manual or automatic?”

  “Automatic. You ever driven one?”

  “No.”

  “Easy as pie,” Josephine said, then laughed at the unintended wit. “Get it? I said pie.”

  “I get it. Do you have the keys?”

  “In my purse. If you’ll bring it over here, I’ll get you the keys and some money. And over there on the hutch you’ll find a pad of paper and a pen. If you bring those, I’ll make you a little map to the store.”

  Gina spent a few moments at the doorway of the boys’ empty bedroom on her way out to the living room. Judging by the light coming in the window, it seemed like midmorning. No one had come to wake her. But sleeping in hadn’t been a blessing this time. Not when she’d tossed and turned until 4:00 a.m.

  Her little boy was still gone.

  Staring at his perfectly made bed was a glaring reminder. Timmy had never made his bed like that. How many times had she tried to teach him the right way? How many times did she have to redo it to get it to look like it did now? How many times had she raised her voice when scolding him about it?

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d give anything, everything she owned, to see that bed made in his messy, Timmy way.

  “Just made a fresh pot of coffee, hon. Mike and Rose are on their way over. Did you sleep well?”

  She didn’t turn toward the voice emanating from the living room, though she’d heard it clearly. It was Scott. He had called her “hon” again. She did feel closer to him now, after this horrific week. Especially after their conversation yesterday. She felt closer to him than she had since the day they had married. She had even occasionally caught herself daydreaming about having him back in her life for good.

  But was she his “hon”?

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t sleep well.”

  Vic stood next to Nate’s desk, listening in on his conversation. Nate had waved him over. Sounded like he had a live one on the hook.

  It was Saturday, almost lunchtime. Vic had just finished up with his list of people to call. All dead ends. He knew Nate had to be close to the end of his list too. Suddenly, Nate had gotten all animated about this present call.

  “No, I agree,” Nate said. “This sounds promising. But can’t someone from your office go by the house and talk to this guy in person?” Nate listened a little more, shook his head no. “I see. No, I get it. These aren’t normal times. We’ve got a lot of personnel out sick here today too. But we’re a two-hour drive from there. It’s what, about twenty minutes up the road for you?” Nate looked up at Vic, shook his head no again.

  Whatever it was, Vic hoped Nate didn’t push too hard.

  “I understand,” Nate said. “Really, I do. Thanks for following up on this. This could turn out to be the break in the case we’ve been waiting for. We’ll take it from here.”

  Nate hung up and sat back in his chair. “This one’s from a hospital in Palatka. Little boy died last year. He lived out in a rural area off Highway 20, between Palatka and a little town called Interlachen.”

  “Interlachen? Never heard of it.”

  “Me neither,” Nate said. “It’s about twenty-five minutes west of Palatka. Anyway, a sheriff’s deputy drove by there yesterday and recalled seeing a little boy about Timmy’s age on the front porch.”

  “What, he didn’t stop?”

  “No, he didn’t. Sounds like he didn’t have the right information. He was only told to drive by and verify if a boy that age lived at that address. Since the boy was right out there in the open, he didn’t see any need to stop and chat.”

  “Well, can’t he go back and do that now?”

  “That’s what you heard me asking about at the end there. They’re saying they’re really shorthanded today. Bunch of people called in sick. The guy I talked to thinks it’s this Cuba situation. Each day the news gets worse, and people are starting to think it’s really gonna happen. They’re getting scared, like maybe they might only have a day or two before nuclear bombs start falling.”

  Vic wanted to say something, but he had to admit . . . when he’d stood at the door of his own house that morning and kissed his wife good-bye, he’d had serious thoughts about closing that door and calling in sick himself.

  Nate leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk. “Looks like it’s up to you and me to check this situation out ourselves.”

  “That’s at least a four-hour round trip, isn’t it?”

  Nate nodded.

  Vic looked at his watch. “Guess we better get started then. I’ll go tell Foster. Why don’t you get the car ready?”

  Vic walked down the hall to Foster’s office. He heard him in there on the phone. The secretary’s desk just outside his office was empty. Speaking of calling in sick, she had done that this morning. Vic waited a few minutes until he heard Foster stop talking, then waited a few moments more. He opened the door to find Special Agent Foster was, indeed, off the phone. But something was wrong. He was looking down, rubbing his temples with both hands. He didn’t seem to notice Vic had come in. Vic made a little extra noise as he approached the desk.

  Foster looked up. “Hey, Vic, what’s up?” His face looked grave.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Foster took a deep breath. “That was my friend who works at McCoy Air Force Base. They sent out a U-2 spy plane to see if the Russians had halted work on the missile sites. They just confirmed the Russians shot down the U-2 over Cuba. The pilot was killed.”

  Both men looked at each other, but neither said a word. Vic could only imagine how President Kennedy and the military generals surrounding him would react to this news.

  53

  After leaving the office, Vic stopped at the curb where Nate had parked the car. “Hold on, Nate. Let me make a quick call to the Harrisons.”

  “I don’t know, Vic. The trip down to the Everglades fizzled out. Maybe you should wait till we get to this place, see what the story is.”

  Vic thought a moment. Maybe Nate was right. But the Harrisons were desperate for any news about Timmy. Even uncertain news. “I still think I should call them.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

  “I won’t be long.” He hurried back inside.

  Back at his desk, he dialed the number. “Hello. This is Vic Hammond. Can I please speak with Scott Harrison?”

  “Hey, Vic. This is Scott. Any news?”

  “It may be nothing. I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you want to brief Gina or not.”

  “Brief her about what?”

  “Nate and I are heading out to a little town west of Palatka to follow up on a lead.”

  “Does it look good?”

  “Could be. We’ll have to wait and see. We were toward the end of our list of hospitals to call when Nate ran across this one. A sheriff’s deputy went out to this property and noticed a little bo
y about Timmy’s age out front on the porch. But the little boy was supposed to have died last year.”

  “You think this could be it?”

  “Hope so. We’ll call you and Gina as soon as we know something solid.”

  “Appreciate that, Vic.”

  “Are you gonna tell her about this?” Vic waited through a pause.

  “I’m not sure. She’s had a rough morning. Rougher than usual.”

  “I understand. No pressure. Just want to make sure you know what’s going on.”

  “Thanks, Vic.”

  It was just a little past lunchtime now. Etta Mae was putting the finishing touches on a fresh apple pie she had just pulled out of the oven. The blueberries were a little too expensive today. She set it carefully on the windowsill to cool. “You should see this, Josephine. It came out perfect. I dare your redneck neighbor to toss this pie in the trash without tasting it.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “You should smell it.”

  “You kidding? I been smelling it for the last hour or so. It’s been driving me crazy. Should’ve had you make two, one for him and one for you and me.”

  Etta Mae lifted her little surprise out of the oven and walked it around the corner into the dining room. She held it out for Josephine to see. Her binoculars were already back up on her face. “Miss Josephine?”

  Josephine set them aside and looked at the miniature apple pie Etta Mae was now holding. Her face lit up like a child’s. “For us?”

  Etta Mae nodded. “I’ll just set it here on the sill with its big brother.” After she put down the pie, she came back into the dining room. “Still no sign of the boy?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “When do you want to bring that pie over? It should be ready before too long.”

  “You mean,” Josephine said, “when are you going to bring that pie over?”

  “You want me to do it?”

  “Well, I can’t on these crutches.”

  Etta Mae wanted to point out that she most certainly could. A person could do anything if they set their mind to it. “I was thinking you’d head over there on your crutches. And I’ll be right beside you holding this pie. You’re the one he knows, after all, not me.”