Half of what he found was old crap that he’d already seen a dozen times before, and the rest was a collection of infomercials, foreign-language variety shows, news and the “life sucks” shows hosted by Phil, Oprah, Geraldo, Jenny, Sally and anybody else who could convince a group of weirdos to go on television. Even the news about him had gotten boring, with sad-faced anchor people saying the same things over and over. He did note, however, much to his relief, that at least one of the stations had found a better picture of him, the one out of his fifth-grade yearbook.
Partly because he had been raised right, as his dad used to say, but mostly out of sheer boredom, he’d laundered the sheets from the master bedroom. It wasn’t right to leave a place without making the bed. Especially if you broke a window to get in while your hosts were on vacation. He was also careful to clean up during his ongoing eating binge. He was almost sorry he’d found the Pepperidge Farm Cookies and vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Absent anyone telling him he couldn’t have another helping, he’d pretty much obliterated the contents of both containers.
Despite his desire to be a good houseguest (breaker?), he couldn’t bring himself to do anything with the JDC jumpsuit, which still lay where he had shed it on the floor of the hall bathroom. That would remain behind closed doors at least until he left. He did feel sorry, though, for whoever would have to clean up the mess.
It took enormous self-control to keep from executing his plan early. While he realized the importance of darkness to his chances of success, this was July, and it didn’t get dark until almost nine, for crying out loud. But wait he would, because impatience spelled a trip back to the JDC, or maybe even worse. If all it took was a little patience to keep that from happening, he could endure the boredom.
As he flipped mindlessly through the channels, his thoughts turned once again to the trouble he was in. He was developing a new perspective on it all. He was beginning to accept his situation as an unchangeable fact that had to be dealt with, rather than a series of events to be regretted. Okay, so he’d killed a guy and that was bad, but it really was an accident, and it really was in self-defense. In his heart, Nathan was certain that he only intended to make Ricky jump back. It might take a while for him to sleep through the nightmares of the blood and the noise, but there wasn’t a lick of remorse in his heart for protecting himself.
He conceded, however, that running away from the JDC might have been a stupid thing to do. It sure made him look guilty, and in retrospect, with Ricky dead, he probably didn’t have to worry about anyone else trying to kill him. So, why had he run? The best answer he could think of was the simple truth: because he was scared, and most important of all, because the opportunity presented itself. Given those circumstances, who wouldn’t run? And now that he was out, staying out seemed more important than… well, anything.
What really surprised him was how quickly his list of crimes grew. He had already added burglary—he supposed that’s what it was called—to the list, and within the next few hours, he was planning to steal a car. By the time he reached Canada, he figured he’d have to burgle at least two more times, and steal at least two more cars. No doubt about it, if he got caught, he’d be in deep shit.
The only answer, then, was not to get caught.
He stopped his tour of the channels to watch a couple of minutes of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, until he remembered how it ended, and he started flashing through the channels once again.
It had been a long time since Michaels had heard Hackner so agitated. “Calm down, Jed. He was just telling you his opinion. You want the guy to lie?” Jed’s conversation with Johnstone had put a burr six inches up his butt, and he was taking it out on his lieutenant over the phone.
“Opinion my ass, Warren! This guy is a menace to the very kids he’s supposed to be protecting. He couldn’t care less about anybody in there!”
If it had been anyone else taking up his time with such irrelevant bullshit, Michaels would have lost his temper long ago. But it was Jed, and Jed didn’t go off the deep end very often. Must have struck a nerve, Michaels told himself. Something in Jed’s past maybe, when he was a kid. Maybe an old man who hit first and asked questions later. Or a buddy who’d gotten the shaft. Who knew the baggage people carried around with them? Michaels decided to cut his sergeant some slack.
“Okay, Jed, accepting the fact that he’s a menace, what would you have me do about it?”
“Get his fat ass fired!”
“I can’t do that. He doesn’t work for me.”
“Jesus Christ, Warren, don’t you see…”
“Jed… Jed…,” Michaels tried to interrupt. “Goddammit, Jed, shut up!” That did it. “Listen, I understand that Johnstone’s a hateful son of a bitch, and I’ll stipulate that he’s a menace to the people under his control. But the fact of the matter is, we’re already up to our ass in alligators over the kid’s escape, we’ve turned up exactly zero worthwhile leads, and I simply don’t have the time to worry about the staffing of the Juvenile Detention Center right now. And, I might add, neither do you.”
When Hackner didn’t respond, Michaels knew that he’d made his point. “Now, then,” he continued, “do we have any evidence at all to corroborate the Bailey kid’s self-defense story?”
Jed sighed. “I just got finished telling you—”
“Yeah, I know, that Johnstone’s a bad guy,” Michaels finished for him. “What about Ricky Harris, what did Johnstone say about him?”
Hackner clearly didn’t want to answer. “He said he was a model employee.” Jed’s reply was little more than a mumble.
“And his personnel jacket?”
“Same thing.”
“Face it, Jed,” Michaels concluded. “We’re still looking for a murderer. I want to give the kid the benefit of the doubt just as much as you do, but they taught us both in cop school to let the evidence guide our conclusions, not the other way around. And frankly, right now, the evidence against Nathan Bailey is pretty damning.”
Jed wouldn’t let it go. “I’m telling you, Warren, there’s something else here—something we’re missing. We don’t have any evidence as to motive. All we’ve got is a dead body and a very plausible story from the boy. You believe him as much as I do. You said so yourself this morning.”
This really wasn’t going anywhere. “Tell you what, Jed, let’s split this case into two parts. The first part: we’ve got to bring the kid into custody. His motivation for killing Harris doesn’t affect that. Once we’ve got him back, we’ll have all the time in the world to prepare the case against him. That’s the time to hang Johnstone out in the breeze—and Harris, too—if that’s what’s appropriate. Fair enough?”
Hackner was quiet again, as though he wasn’t sure whether he had won or lost. “I guess it’ll have to do. But I’m going to dig deeper into this guy Ricky.”
Warren smiled. Jed was too hardheaded to answer with a simple okay. “Now that that’s out of the way, we’ve had the uncle’s place under surveillance, I trust?”
Jed was all business again. “Yep. Not a sign of either one of them.”
“Think maybe they skipped town together?”
“I guess that’s possible, but considering their history, I don’t think it’s likely. The uncle’s the whole reason he ran away, remember?”
Michaels thought it was a long shot as well, but he had to pursue it as an option. One of the most basic principles of investigative police work was to eliminate the obvious before searching for the obscure. And as unlikely as it might have been for Nathan to return to the uncle he purported to hate, it was a place that he knew, and where he had roots. It would have been irresponsible not to surveil the house. “So, where else might he have gone?”
Jed answered succinctly, “I can’t think of a single place where he might not have gone.”
Michaels conceded that the question was ridiculous. If the uncle were deleted from the equation, Nathan had no one left in his life. And sad as that was, it left him with limitless options. Owing allegiance to no one, without so much as an obligation to phone anyone to say he was all right, the entire world belonged to this fugitive from justice; his options were limited only by the breadth of his imagination and his cunning. If he were an adult, these conditions would add up to the most difficult type of search. Since he was just a kid—hell, Michaels didn’t know what that meant. Certainly there were options available to adults that were not available to children, but on the other hand, children sort of blended into a crowd, and to a large degree, they all looked alike. Not feature for feature, of course, but human nature was such that people didn’t notice children’s features. Police were fortunate if people even remembered the presence of children in a crowd, let alone any specifics. Consequently, a child on the run could have options that would never be available to an adult.
