'Boo Boo,' Caroline said. 'He's scared. He wants to know where we are.'
'Tell Boo Boo he's safe and not to worry,' Elaine said.
'And make sure he tells you the same thing.'
Caroline wanted to believe Elaine, but there was something in her eyes that belied the truth.
Bob reached in and picked up both the girl and Boo
Boo, carried them gently out of the van. Caroline blinked sleep from her eyes, looked around.
'Where are we?' she asked.
Bob didn't say a word. Instead he looked at Elaine and shrugged. You can answer this one.
Elaine walked over, put her hand against the young girl's cheek.
'We're staying at another house for a little while,' she said. 'Our home needs a little renovation, so we'll just be staying here until it's ready.'
'What about my room?' Caroline asked. Even though she was happy with Boo Boo, she'd be sad if she didn't get to play with her toys again. She couldn't believe all those brand-new toys and dolls Elaine and Bob had bought for her. She'd never had a dollhouse. It would be so sad if she never got to play with it again.
'Hopefully you'll be back in it soon,' Elaine said. Then she smiled, gave Boo Boo a peck on the nose and made a funny grr noise. Caroline laughed.
'Come on, hon,' Bob said. 'We should check in.'
'I never thought we'd see him again,' Elaine said. 'At least not until much later down the road. When it was time to, you know.'
'I know,' Bob said. 'But he told us something might come up. Makes me wonder whether we should have ever listened to that scarred-up asshole. Sorry, kids, pardon my
French.'
'You know why we did,' Elaine said. They both looked at Patrick, and for a moment Caroline thought
Elaine might cry.
'Who are you talking about?' Caroline asked.
'Nobody,' Elaine said. 'Just a scary man that hopefully you'll never have to meet. Now, come on, let's get you to your new new room.'
25
I got to work at six o'clock in the morning. I had to get out of my apartment, where all I could do was think about who burned down that house. And any moments I was able to forget about that, my thoughts turned to Amanda.
I'd spent half an hour the previous evening on the phone with Rent-a-Wreck, trying to explain how their car had disappeared from the scene of a massive fire. Thankfully
I'd taken out insurance, but I wasn't looking forward to the paperwork. Still, with that car gone, the company was out, what, a buck ninety-five?
The cops had ushered us from the fire immediately. Before leaving, I saw the two cops who'd been questioning us. They were standing in the driveway, interviewing several people
I presumed to be neighbors. There was fear on the cops'faces.
They saw us as we left, but this time their attitude was gone.
I wondered if this would finally get them to investigate.
Wallace drove us back to New York. He made it very clear that I was to stay on the Linwood investigation. I felt a swell of pride at this. Not only because I'd been right all along, but because now I wanted, needed to know what had happened to those children. And why someone seemed willing to kill to keep it quiet.
I spent the first part of the morning reading various newspapers from Hobbs County over the past few years.
The archives of the Hobbs County Register were available online, and it was easy to see that this was a city on the verge of tremendous change and tremendous gentrification.
At around ten o'clock I stood up to grab a cup of coffee from the pantry, when I looked over at Jack's desk and noticed that the old man wasn't there. It was curious, since most mornings he was in the office before the sun rose, and I knew today wasn't his day off.
Walking over, I noticed that his computer wasn't on and the red message light on his phone was blinking. His caller
ID read sixteen missed calls. I checked the log. He hadn't checked a single message since the previous night. That wasn't like Jack, who I knew carried his work home with him, often calling his voice mail to see if a source had gotten back, or if there was a juicy new scoop from one of his many contacts around the city.
Since my nerves were already a bit frayed from the previous few days, I half jogged over to Wallace's office to see what the deal was. He was reading, looked up expectantly.
'Parker. How you holding up?'
'Been better,' I said. 'Just doing some background work on Hobbs County right now. Hey, have you seen
Jack recently?'
Wallace shook his head. 'Not since last night. He filed his story, then left. Haven't seen him since.'
'Well, it doesn't look like he came in today, and I just wanted to make sure everything's all right.'
'Isn't Jack off today?'
I shook my head. 'Not till Friday.'
Wallace picked up a pen, twirled it as he thought. 'I don't know what to tell you. I've known Jack for nearly thirty years, and I've seen him go through some of the toughest times of his life. Three or four wives, a near bankruptcy. Missing a day of work at this point in his career, at this point he's playing with the house's money, so I won't make a stink.'
'Sir, if you don't mind, I just want to be sure you're right. He hasn't been himself for a few months now. I'm going to swing by his place, make sure the status quo is, well, safe and sound.' And sober.
Wallace shrugged. 'Do what you must. If he's there, tell him we'll consider it a sick day.'
'And if he's not there?'
'He's a grown man. Check the nearest coffee shop or cigar lounge.' Or bar, I longed to add, but didn't.
'I'll be back soon,' I said. 'Hopefully he's on the couch watching old Archie Bunker episodes or something.'
As I was leaving the office, I heard Wallace say, 'Henry?'
I turned around. 'Yes?'
'Give me a call if you, well, find anything out of the ordinary.' The look in his eyes admitted that as much as he wanted to think Jack was at home watching TV or at a cigar lounge burning through a Macanudo, we both knew that wasn't likely.
'I'll call as soon as I find him.'
After grabbing my bag and cell phone, I hopped a cab to Jack's apartment. It was one of those brand- spankingnew NYC cabs with the video monitor in the divider. Some hairsprayed goon was gushing over a musical comedy set to open that week. I put it on Mute, then when I got tired of seeing the primped-and-coiffed anchor I turned the screen off.
I'd never been to Jack's place. He'd invited me over once or twice for a drink, but I always had to decline for one reason or another. He'd stopped by mine a few times, though not in a while. Though I'd considered the man an icon and a mentor, someone without whom I wouldn't have a career, my refusal to spend time with him outside of work seemed like an artificial boundary I'd recently had to create. I couldn't think of spending a night in better company, hearing Jack's thousands of stories about his career, what the news used to be like. I had to deprive myself of that, though, for his own sake.
A few months ago, Jack had told me that to become a legend in any line of work, you had to rid yourself of outside distractions. Focus on the ball, put in your time, and greatness would come. He frowned on taking long vacations, having friends and even giving yourself up to a lover. Jack was thrice divorced and had admitted to me
