Nightscape

by Stephen R. George

“Not unless you’re charging me, you won’t.”

  Peterson mumbled something, then tossed back the permit. Shep caught it, folded it, and stuffed it into his wallet.

  “You were a bit of a prick in there,” Shep said.

  Peterson regarded him coolly. “I’m not the one who got her kid snatched.”

  Shep let that one slide. He dug out his cigarettes and offered Peterson the pack. The cop hesitated, as if he were being handed a bribe, then took one. Shep lit them both. They smoked quietly for a minute. The cool breeze was pleasant.

  “So what do you think?” Shep asked.

  “Nothing, yet.”

  “You ever see anything like this?”

  “Nope.”

  “Jesus, Lieutenant, you think maybe you could cut the tough cop bullshit for ten seconds?”

  “You son of a bitch. You’re lucky you’re not spending the night in a cell.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Assault. Illegal use of a firearm.”

  “You saw the permit.”

  “She doesn’t have one.”

  “She told you, it was on top of the fridge, she just took it.”

  “That’s negligence on your part.”

  “Lighten up!”

  “Besides, I can’t see you leaving a loaded weapon unattended. Not unless you planned it that way.”

  Shep took a final draw on his cigarette then flicked the glowing butt across the lawn. It skittered over the pavement in a shower of sparks and disappeared into the street.

  “I don’t know what you’ve got against me.”

  “Plenty.” Peterson dropped his cigarette to the steps and crushed it out. “Number one, this isn’t your pond.”

  Shep leaned back against the door frame and let him continue.

  “Number two, you’re poking your nose into an ongoing police investigation. Number three, I know a little about you.”

  “Oh?”

  “When she told me she’d run into you, I did some checking. Your brother wasn’t murdered. He died of an animal attack.”

  “That’s what they said.”

  “What do you say?”

  “They killed him and made him look that way.”

  “Jesus, Thomas. You were a cop. You think that sounds likely?” He shook his head in frustrated anger. “You’re just screwing things up for everybody.”

  “I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “I’m one breath away from making your life a misery. I can make it so you can’t pick your nose without getting arrested.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “For a start, I want to know exactly what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m looking for the people who killed my brother, so they can be brought to justice.” Even to his own ears, the lie had a practiced sound to it. He blushed telling it.

  “Right. So, you’re using Bonnie Laine and her kid to… what? Help? As bait?”

  “I’m helping both of us by helping her.”

  “You convinced her of that, anyway.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Bullshit.” Peterson poked him in the shoulder. “There’s blood all over that fucking house. Somebody got the hell shot out of them in there. There’s blood in the park. Something happened around here. You know so much about this, tell me what’s going on.”

  Shep rubbed his chin. He knew an angry cop when he saw one, and he knew trouble was a hair’s breadth from his ass. He decided on a more humble approach.

  “All I know is that my brother ran into some group around here six and a half years ago. He got scared, and he tried to find out more. Then he was dead. So now I’m following his trail, and I’m running into some pretty strange people. Whoever they are, they’re interested in this lady and her kid. That’s what I know.”

  “They, they, who the hell are they? And why aren’t there any bodies around?”

  “There never are.”

  “How often has this happened to you?”

  Shep pursed his lips, and decided he had nothing to lose by coming clean.

  “I’ve run into them a few times. Shot up a couple. Maybe even dead.”

  Peterson stiffened. “You’re admitting murder to a cop, you idiot.”

  “Self-defense.”

  “You never reported it.”

  “I was never sure I’d killed them, and nothing ever came of it. No news stories.” He looked directly at Peterson. “They clean up after themselves.”

  “Well, that explains a couple of mystery calls. Jesus. And you led these guys right to Bonnie and her kid.”

  “Uh uh, no way. I followed them here.”

  “You think Bonnie’s husband, her ex, is with these people?”

  “Positive. He was after her downtown.”

  “That’s when she should have called us.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t have listened. You haven’t listened to her much.”

  Peterson nodded grimly, and did not offer argument.

  “Why do they want the boy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “This is a lot of trouble to snatch a kid.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What are they going to do to him?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it.”

  Peterson scuffed his foot on the step. A technician carrying some camera equipment passed between them and walked to a van in the street.

  “What are you going to do next?” Peterson asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve got nothing without the kid. Maybe her ex-husband is the key. I don’t know.”

  Peterson nodded slowly, considering something. “You come down to see me tomorrow morning and I’ll show you the file.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I guess I am. And you’re going to share some things with me. Quid pro quo.”

  “Deal.”

  “Are you going to stay here tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll talk to her and see. I doubt she’ll want to be alone.”

  “I doubt it too.”

  Half an hour later the police had disappeared, and the street was empty. The surge of activity had come to an abrupt end. The television vans were gone. Shep sat on the front step, smoking, and watched the last of the cruiser cars turn the corner at the bottom of the block. Five minutes later, the couple across the street picked themselves up and went inside. A minute later their light went out.

  Shep flicked his cigarette into the street, got up, and went inside.

  Bonnie was curled into one end of the sofa, head resting on her arm, exhausted. Her face was puffy, her eyes swollen. She looked up as he came in, then put her head down again.

  “I’m going to stay here tonight,” Shep said.

  “What for?” Her voice was flat and hopeless and it made Shep’s skin crawl.

  “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Bonnie sniffled. Tears filled her eyes. “What about Evan?”

  “We’ll get him back.”

  “He’s just a little boy. He’s frightened. You said we would be okay.” Her voice trailed off into a sob.

  Shep sat down beside her. He did not touch her. He stared at the quiet television.

  “We’ll get him back,” he said without conviction, gently rubbing the bandaged cut on his neck. “We’ll find him, and he’ll be okay, and we’ll bring him home. I promise.”

  Bonnie shook her head slowly.

  “Be still.”

  The voice came from the darkness above him. Evan was crushed into the floor compartment in the back of the car. Hot air circulated about his head and he sweated.

  There were two people in the car besides himself. The driver had been waiting outside his mom’s house, a tall thin man with a very pale face. He had not spoken one word. In the back seat, above Evan, was the man who had broken through the bathroom window. The glass had slashed his face and arms, and now blood dripped down his legs and onto Evan. The smell of it made him feel sick.

  “I’m going to throw
up,” he said.

  “That’ll make the trip very uncomfortable.”

  Evan groaned. His stomach lurched. The vibration of the car’s engine, all the little bumps in the road, passed directly through the carpeted floor and into his back.

  They had been driving for nearly an hour now. At first, there had been a lot of light outside, and the sound of other cars. But for the past fifteen minutes the windows, what he could see of them, had been dark.

  He groaned and made a retching sound. The feet resting on his stomach lifted a bit.

  “Try and hold it down. We’ll be there soon.”

  He groaned again and closed his eyes. Above Evan, the man grunted.

  He felt the sting of tears, but held them back. He tried to think of his mom, but he could not get her face to come into his head. Instead, he kept seeing the room from his dreams, and the pale shape moving in the darkness beyond the open door.

  A short while later the car stopped. The engine kept running. A front door opened, and then a back door. For a couple of seconds, cool air flowed into the car, and Evan gulped it down. Somebody climbed into the front, and the back. The door closed, and the car started moving again.

  “Where is he?”

  He recognized the voice instantly. The woman with the red hair! Her voice sounded just like it had in his dreams.

  “On the floor.”

  “Bring him up. I want to see him.”

  The feet lifted off his stomach, and strong hands hauled him out of the darkness and dropped him into the car seat. The smell of perfume became suddenly stronger. In the green light from the car’s dash he could see the four shapes. Two in front, and one on either side of him. To his right was the woman.

  “Hello, Evan,” she said.

  Evan stared at her face. In the green light, she looked like a ghost. Her lips were very dark, and her eyes gleamed.

  When her hand touched his leg he yelped.

  “You cost us a lot,” she said, and leaned toward him.

  Her breath on his cheek was warmer than the air in the car. “Leave me alone!”

  He drew away, lifting his hands between them. The shape in the front passenger seat turned.

  “Leave him alone. For now.”

  “I was just checking,” the woman said. “He looks fine.”

  “Leave him be for now. Please.”

  And suddenly, Evan recognized the voice. He leaned forward, over the back of the seat.

  “Sit down, son. Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see. Put him back on the floor.”

  “Dad!”

  But rough hands pulled at him again, pushing him back down into the darkness, and after a while he could see nothing at all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shep was up and about when Bonnie woke. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. All she could think about was Evan. He was gone.

  Don’t let them get me! He had begged her. But they had gotten him, and he was with them, and he was frightened, and he had counted on her, depended on her, and she had promised him that it would be okay, promised him as he cried in her arms, and she hadn’t come through.

  When she could stand her own company no longer she got up, put on a robe, and left the bedroom. Shep handed her a steaming cup of coffee when she came into the kitchen.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not very well.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “How do you think?”

  He seemed altogether too cheerful for her. She sat down at the table and pulled her gown snug. The stove clock showed nearly 8:00.. So she had drifted off at some point. Exhaustion and fear had taken their toll. She still felt tired, physically and mentally drained.

  Shep leaned on the stove, coffee mug in hand, and said, “If you blame me for what happened, you better say it now.”

  “Blame you?”

  “I can see how you’re thinking. I know what Peterson said.”

  “But I don’t blame you. You didn’t do anything.”

  He sipped his coffee but did not look convinced.

  Just thinking about it confused her, and she began to wonder if she should, in fact, be laying blame at somebody’s feet. Her own, maybe. But certainly not Shep’s. His, least of all. The police had not believed Evan’s story, and neither had she, not fully. Only Shep had believed. Only Shep had tried to help.

  “I don’t blame you at all,” she said.

  He considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”

  “I just don’t know what to do,” Bonnie said.

  “I need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Your ex-husband is the key. I want to look around his place, his apartment, whatever.”

  “House.”

  “You could arrange that for me.”

  “But it’s not up to me. That would be Harris’s parents.”

  “Then put in a word for me. They’re not likely to cooperate with a stranger.”

  “You’d probably have an easier time with them than I would,” Bonnie said. “What do you think you’ll find?”

  “If your ex was involved with this group, then he made that choice himself. Not like the boy. Maybe he left a diary, or some notes.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Shep sipped his coffee and looked at her over the rim of the mug.

  “No.”

  “I want to help.”

  “I don’t need that kind of help.”

  “Then I won’t talk to the Laws.”

  “I’ll have to try by myself, then. It will only make the job more difficult. But if that’s the way it’s got to be, then I’ll have to live with it.”

  “Don’t be so stubborn! I just want to come along!”

  “And maybe get yourself hurt, or killed. No.”

  Exasperated, Bonnie shook her head and sighed. “You’re just being a macho blockhead!”

  Shep shrugged, but did not change his mind.

  Half an hour later he had finished disconnecting and packing up his alarm system.

  “You should be fine,” he said to Bonnie. “I don’t think they’re after you.”

  “You’re just being silly. I wouldn’t get in the way.”

  “If I find anything, I’ll let you know. I’ll call you periodically, to see if you’ve been contacted. This could be a ransom thing, I guess.”

  “Not from me, it couldn’t.”

  “I’ll check with you anyway.”

  He opened the door and with the box balanced in his arms went, out on the step.

  “You don’t really care about me or Evan,” Bonnie said. “You just want to hurt these people. Peterson was right. You were just using us.”

  Shep looked at her with an unreadable expression. “I’ll get the boy back.”

  Bonnie was not sure what to feel. The guilt and fear for Evan had been replaced by anger at Shep, a large pinch of frustration, and a tint of regret at what she had just said.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “The police, to share some information, and get some help.”

  Bonnie sighed and shook her head. “If you think it will help, I’ll talk to the Laws, let them know you’re coming.”

  “That would be nice.”

  He smiled at her, then walked to his car. She stood on the step and watched him drive away. After his car had turned the corner, she went back inside. She poured herself another coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

  The silence of the house felt strange. With Evan here these past few days, she had grown accustomed to his noises, his presence. For the first time in years she felt utterly, hopelessly alone.

  Tears wanted to come, but she held them back. She tried to focus on her anger and frustration.

  Damn it, she didn’t need Shep Thomas’s permission to look for her son.

  She carried her mug to the phone and dialed the Laws’ number. As it rang, she sipped the coffee, hoping that Roberta would not answer.

  “Hello?”

  “To
m, thank goodness. It’s Bonnie. I need a favor.”

  Evan woke shivering on a damp mattress. His torn pajamas provided no warmth. In the darkness he could see only a patch of gray light, a barred window on the opposite wall, covered in newspaper from the outside.

  When they had taken him from the car he had been asleep, or unconscious. He remembered very little of it. The redhead, laughing; his dad, touching his head and saying something he did not understand.

  He had woken in the middle of the night to pitch blackness, and he had cried out, and a door had opened in the wall, a slab of yellow light, a silhouette, and a man’s voice had told him to be quiet and go back to sleep. He had cried, trembling, frightened, until sleep had taken him.

  He sat up now and leaned against a cold, cement wall. He was in a basement, he guessed. That explained the cold. But the dampness was his own sweat. He smelled bad. The room also smelled, like newspapers he had once found in the utility shed at home, soaked with water and dirt after a winter of neglect.

  He sat quietly for a few minutes. After a while, his eyes grew accustomed to the faint light, and he could make out the door across the way, and a small wooden chair lying on its side, and a couple of boxes piled in a corner. No sounds came from beyond the door. His stomach growled.

  Mom would be making him breakfast right now, if he were at her house. Just toast with peanut butter, or maybe cereal, because she didn’t have all the different kinds of things that Dad had, like pancakes or French toast. What would she be doing this morning? Eating by herself. She was probably worried about him. He wondered if she would cry. Maybe she would. Maybe Shep Thomas wouldn’t let her.

  And then a horrible thought occurred to him. What if Mom was hurt? He had seen her falling to the ground last night, but the lights had been too bright, and there had been too much noise and movement for him to see if she was okay. What if she wasn’t okay?

  His stomach growled again, and he felt a little sick.

  He couldn’t sit here any longer. He was hungry, and he was cold. Maybe he could find his dad.

  But that thought brought no comfort. His dad was not his dad any more. His dad was strange, and acted like somebody else. Somebody who didn’t like Evan very much.

  He stood with trepidation on the slippery cement, and moved carefully to the door, eyes screwed tightly shut in case he stepped on something squishy. Like a silverfish, or a spider, or a worm.