his heart thumping in his chest. Grabbing the Magic 8 Ball was just to touch something familiar and cosy. Now he was plagued with feelings of dread.
And why was Mae Miller like a stuck CD in his head? He barely knew her, but he wondered if her evidence could be taken at face value or did she have something to hide or someone to protect. One name came to mind. He needed to get out. He went to the Jeep and drove to the Grants’ house. It was just before eleven-thirty, the time Katie would have been walking home. He sensed something was wrong as soon as he got out. There were three other houses close by, yet no-one else had heard a sound. Frank would have backed up his story with as many witnesses as he could. Joe’s footsteps alone had already stirred up one barking dog. Another, a yappy little terrier, was pressing his face against the bars of a gate. Joe looked around at the ground floor windows. Lights were on in two of them. The third was in darkness, but when he moved closer he could see a glow at the back of the house. It was not too late for Mrs Grant’s neighbours to have been awake.
He rang the doorbell at the first house. A woman in a bright blouse and polyester pants answered. She blushed when she saw Joe.
‘Hello, Mr Lucchesi,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Hi,’ said Joe. ‘I’m doing OK. I’m…I was just wondering were you here that Friday night, the sixth, when Katie disappeared.’
‘The poor divil.’ She shook her head. ‘I was,’ she said. ‘It was my little fella’s birthday. I was cleaning up after the party ’til all hours.’
‘Like, midnight?’
‘God, no. Well after two o’clock.’
‘Did you hear anything at all?’
‘No. Not a thing.’
‘Would you have had the vacuum cleaner on?’
‘I would have if the damn yoke was fixed. I was on my hands and knees picking popcorn out of the carpet. Have the lads got you in to help with the investigation?’ she asked, her eyes sparkling.
‘No, no,’ said Joe. ‘It doesn’t really work that way. Just curious, that’s all. Did you see anything that night?’
‘No. I hadn’t time to bless myself, let alone look out the window.’
‘OK,’ said Joe. ‘Thanks.’ He moved on to the second house and a third, before driving back to Danaher’s.
The forest at Shore’s Rock was utterly still, the silence broken only by Mick Harrington’s footsteps and the heavy breath of his dog, Juno. A mile from the Lucchesi’s house, through a dense network of shrubs and briars, Mick picked his way along a path towards the edge of the cliff, the same path he had trampled on and off for over thirty years, to a ledge that jutted out over the sea where he sat to take in one of his favourite views. Juno trotted slowly ahead on tired legs. Suddenly he let out a piercing yelp, then barked and barked until Mick scrambled over to him, taking him gently by the head, holding his ears tight, crouching to look into his eyes.
‘What is it, boy? What has my old boy barking like a madman?’ Mick’s gaze moved past the dog and stopped dead. He staggered back, groping for Juno’s lead, struggling to snap it back onto his collar. He broke into a run back through the forest, hauling Juno behind him until he eventually picked him up and carried him back to the car in clumsy strides.
Frank stayed calmly finishing his pint as Joe arrived in and sat down beside him, but Richie was almost up out of his seat in protest. He opened his mouth, but his words were drowned out as the door to Danaher’s crashed open. Mick Harrington scanned the bar. His eyes locked with Frank’s. Frank stood up, drawn across the room to him.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Mick, his voice low. He held back tears. ‘I was out for a walk. In…up at the forest. I saw…I thought…I didn’t know what it was.’ His breath caught. ‘I think it’s…was Katie.’
TWELVE
Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1983
Duke knocked on the screen door and walked back down the steps to look through the window. He could see the light from the television shine across the smooth bald head.
‘Mr Riggs?’ he called out. ‘Mr Riggs?’
Geoff Riggs turned his head slowly and waved Duke back to the house. He lumbered out of his armchair and walked to the front door, throwing it open. Today was a happy drinking day.
‘Hey, Mr Riggs. Donnie around?’ said Duke.
‘Thought he was with you down at the creek.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Duke slowly. ‘I was supposed to meet him there. Sorry to get you up.’
‘Don’t worry. Need the exercise, son,’ he said, waving the remote control at him.
Duke walked down the path and through the trees. He called out, but got no reply. He finally found Donnie lying under a cottonwood by the creek, legs pulled to his chest, skinny feet sticking out of his tight navy jeans. He was asleep.
‘Hey, buddy,’ said Duke, bending down, pulling gently at his foot.
Donnie woke up slowly, rolling onto his back, rubbing at the dust that stuck to his cheek.
‘Didn’t you make it home last night?’ asked Duke.
‘I made it home,’ said Donnie. ‘And Daddy’d done lock me out again. No amount of knockin’ on the screen door shifted him from that chair, six pack happy at his feet. Looked around at me, too. “Go on, now, boy,” he says, like I’m some dog.’ He laughed, shaking his head.
‘Least you don’t live at my house,’ said Duke.
‘Your mom’s all right,’ said Donnie.
‘My mom’s all wrong,’ said Duke. He sat beside him with his back against the tree and uncurled a book he had pulled from his pocket.
‘No,’ said Donnie, standing up. ‘No readin’. Let’s do somethin’,’ he said.
‘Shut up. This is different. It’s cool. Uncle Bill gave it to me.’
He held it up without looking at Donnie, then flicked through it until he found what he was looking for.
‘Listen to this,’ he said, reading slowly, jerkily. ‘“In mythology, the hawk is believed to have special powers, possessing great knowledge, qualities of pride, nobility, courage and wisdom,” something I can’t read, “and truth. It is considered lucky to see a hawk first thing in the morning.”’
‘Your Uncle Bill must be the luckiest man alive,’ said Donnie.
Duke continued reading. ‘“If you hear the cry of a hawk, it is a sign that you should open yourself up to a message, to…”’ he stopped and finished solemnly, ‘“…beware.” Spooky or what?’
‘Spooky,’ said Donnie. ‘But I still want to do somethin’.’ He began wriggling out of his T-shirt. The early morning sun was hot on his face. Duke looked up at him. Donnie was patting his swollen stomach, his back arched. He pulled off the rest of his clothes and shouted, ‘Last one in is a dead man,’ before running towards the misty water. Duke watched his naked brown body go. Shivers ran cold up his spine. He didn’t like the way it felt. He didn’t follow him.
The water looked warm as Donnie jumped in. He surfaced, waving with both hands. He slid under again then came up, pulling himself with the rope that hung from their favourite tree. He climbed to the top, swung, then plunged back into the water. When he was finished, he ran back to shiver in the shade.
‘Shoulda come in,’ he said. ‘It was cool. Hey, whatcha wanna do after school?’
‘I dunno,’ said Duke, looking up. ‘Jeez, would you put some clothes on, for Christ’s sake?’
Wanda Rawlins sped through Stinger’s Creek in the pickup with a cold can of soda pressed between her thighs. She smoked like a man, the cigarette clamped between her thumb and forefinger, each pull long and deep. She slammed on the brakes when she saw the lonely figure at the side of the road. She reversed in a zig-zag.
