There was just enough moonlight to let her follow the rippling trail of Jonas’s boat.
• • •
“Kelly?” Jenny called out, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Kelly, it’s me!” She paused, listening, but heard nothing except the chirping of the insects.
She wasn’t sure how far she’d come, but finally the paved path along the canal came to an end. Ahead of her lay a field, dotted with pines and choked with kudzu, with only a narrow trail edging the drainage channel. She had stopped, wondering if maybe she shouldn’t go back home, when she suddenly realized where she was.
Her own house was on the other side of the field and two blocks farther down. Though she’d never been on this side of the field before, she and her friends often played along the other edge, hiding in the vines, pretending they were in the jungle.
And there was a house right on the canal, halfway across the field, that she used to think was a scary place, where a witch lived. But her father had taken her there one day and told her that it wasn’t a witch’s house at all.
“A policeman lives there,” he’d told her. “And if you’re ever playing out here and see a stranger, or get lost, you go there and he’ll take care of you. There’s nothing in that house to be afraid of.”
She’d looked at the house, with all its paint worn off, and propped up on stilts that looked like they might fall down, and wondered how anyone but a witch could live in anything like it. But then her father had gone right up to the back door and knocked, and a man had opened it.
His name was Mr. Duval, and he wasn’t scary at all. He’d even told her he’d take her out and teach her how to fish sometime, if she wanted.
She still hesitated, searching in the darkness for a light in the house. From where she was, all she could see was the roof, barely visible through the trees.
But if Kelly was lost, maybe she knew to go to that house, too.
Resolutely, she started along the dirt trail, trying not to think about how far away the lights of the subdivision behind her were getting, or what might be hiding in the kudzu, waiting to jump out at her.
Off to her right she heard something move in the bushes, and she broke into a run.
And then she was there. The house stood at the edge of the canal, its front porch jutting out over the water just like she remembered it. She ran around to the back door and knocked loudly. “Mr. Duval?” she called out. “It’s me! It’s Jenny Sheffield!”
Her heart was still beating fast, and she listened hard, certain that whatever she’d heard in the bushes might be coming after her. But then she heard a sound from inside the house, and a second later the door opened a crack.
“Mr. Duval? It’s me. I’m looking for Kelly. She’s lost and I thought maybe she came here.”
Judd Duval gazed down at the little girl, his mind racing. When he’d first heard the pounding at the door, he’d been certain it was Kitteridge, come looking for him. But when he’d heard the little girl’s voice, an idea had suddenly come to him. He’d struggled to his feet, every joint aching now, and steadied himself with trembling hands for a moment before he’d been able to get to the back door. Now, as he looked down at Jenny, a surge of adrenaline energized him.
“She’s not here,” he said. “But I know where we can find her. Would you like me to take you there?”
Jenny nodded eagerly, and Judd Duval stepped out onto the back porch, pulling the door closed behind him. “We have to go in the car,” he explained.
Jenny frowned. The car? But Kelly was in the swamp. And there was something funny about his voice, too.
Then Judd turned and the light of the moon fell onto his face.
Jenny’s eyes widened as she stared at the wrinkles in his skin, and his deeply sunken eyes. He didn’t look anything like she remembered him at all.
He looked old and sick, and there was something about the way he was staring at her that frightened her.
Instinctively, she backed away, but Judd reached out and grasped her wrist. “Don’t run away, Jenny,” he said, his voice rasping.
Jenny struggled, trying to pull away from him, but Judd’s grip tightened. He picked her up, and carried her into the house. Fumbling in the dark, he found the nylon ties he carried instead of handcuffs, and, twisting Jenny’s arms around behind her back, bound her wrists.
“Stop that!” Jenny screamed. “I want to go home!”
Judd’s hand clamped over the little girl’s mouth, and he reached for a dish towel, tying it around her head as a makeshift gag. Thirty seconds later two more of the nylon ties bound her ankles together, immobilizing her. Picking her up again, ignoring her struggles, he took her out the back door and carried her the ten yards to his squad car, which was parked under one of the pine trees. He opened the trunk, put her inside, then closed the lid again.
Trembling more violently than before, he hurried around to the driver’s door, got in, and started the engine. Putting the car in gear, he made a U-turn and steered quickly up his rutted drive to the main road. He paused there for a moment, his own lights out, searching for any other cars. But the highway was deserted, and finally he turned on his headlights. He wasn’t too worried — his destination was in the opposite direction from the village. With any luck at all, he’d have the road completely to himself.
• • •
Warren Phillips switched on the porch light and looked through the window to see Judd Duval standing outside, his sunken eyes glowing maniacally in the light from the globe above the door. Unlocking the bolt, he opened the door and pulled Judd inside. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“My shot,” Judd croaked, his voice rattling in his throat. “I got to have my shot. Look at me! I’m dying.”
Phillips’s voice hardened. “I told you the price. I need children, Judd.”
“I got one,” Judd said, his lips twisting into an ugly grin.
Phillips’s eyes narrowed. “Who? There aren’t any—”
“Not a baby,” Judd interrupted. “But she’s young enough. She’s in the trunk of my car.”
Fury welled up in Phillips. “Are you out of your mind?” he demanded. “What have you done, Judd?”
“I got you what you wanted,” Judd insisted.
“Where?” Phillips spat. “Who is it? How did you get her?”
“Craig Sheffield’s kid,” Judd replied. “And I didn’t do anything. She came right up to my back door.”
“In the middle of the night?” Phillips demanded. “I’m not a fool, Judd.”
Duval’s lips curled into a malevolent smile. “She was lookin’ for the Anderson girl,” he explained. “There been people lookin’ for her all night, out in the swamp. And then this kid came up to my door, askin’ me if she was there. She was alone, Doc. I figure she musta snuck out.”
Phillips glared furiously at the other man. “And you don’t think anybody will miss her? For Christ’s sake, Judd!”
“So what if they miss her?” Judd whined. “All they can do is look in the swamp, and they can’t find what ain’t there. And you need her. You told me you need kids.”
Phillips’s mind raced. Jenny Sheffield was only six years old, and the magical gland inside her had barely begun to atrophy. But if they started searching the swamp for her and didn’t find her, they wouldn’t give up. Not until they either found Jenny or her body.
And then he realized there was a way.
If they found her body …
“All right,” he said. “Take the car around to the back and bring her in.”
Judd held his palsied hands up. His fingers were shriveled and curling in upon themselves, the nails cracking with age. “I don’t know if I can, Doc. I’m getting weaker.”
“Do it,” Phillips ordered him. “I’ll meet you in the back.”
Three minutes later Judd carried Jenny through the back door. She was still struggling, and incoherent screams, muffled by the gag in her mouth, rose from her throat.
“Put her down,” Phillips told Judd Duval, who immediately lowered the terrified child to the floor. Phillips knelt down and slid a hypodermic needle into the vein of Jenny’s forearm. Jenny’s eyes widened in fear as she watched him press the plunger on the needle, but a few seconds later she slumped to the floor, her eyes closing.
