“Just down the street,” Wyatt said. “What’s this about? I don’t understand.”
“How about we go pay a call on him?” said the cop.
“Who?”
“This friend.”
“It’s a she,” Wyatt said. “What’s happening? What’s going on?”
“Take a guess.”
“I don’t have any idea.”
The cop gave him a long look. “You a good liar, son?”
“I’m not lying about anything,” Wyatt said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” the cop said. “Then how about we pay a call on your friend?”
“Cuff him, chief?” said one of the SWAT guys.
The cop with the gold braid shook his head. At that moment the Dippin’ Donuts bag, soggy with rain, came apart. The coffee cups splatted on the pavement, and coffee and doughnuts got washed away down the gutter.
Wyatt ended up riding in the back of the lead cruiser, one of the cops driving the Mustang. “Here,” he said, when they came to the brick house with the foreclosure sign.
They approached the front door, two SWAT guys first, then Wyatt and the chief, followed by the rest of the cops.
“This friend got a name?” the chief said.
“Greer,” Wyatt said. “Greer Torrance.”
“Come again?” said the chief.
Wyatt repeated the name. “She hasn’t done anything, either. You’re making a mistake.” Then he realized that breaking into the foreclosed house was probably a crime. But the kind of crime that brought out the SWAT team? He didn’t know.
One of the SWAT guys kicked at the door with his boot. “Open up.”
The door opened at once, and there was Greer, fully dressed. She took everything in fast, her eyes widening. “Wyatt? What’s wrong?”
“Remember me, Greer?” said the chief.
Greer nodded.
“No more playing with matches, I hope?” the chief said.
She looked him in the eye. “I never played with matches, so there’s nothing to give up.”
At that moment, Wyatt realized-or decided-that he loved her.
“Maybe we can discuss that further one day,” the chief said. “For now, we’re going to search this house.”
“Don’t you see the sign?” Greer said. “It’s empty. And what about a warrant?”
“Not necessary in a hot-pursuit situation,” the chief said.
“Hot pursuit?” Greer said. “I confess. The house belongs to the bank now but we spent one night in it anyway. Guilty as charged.”
“You trying to be funny?” the chief said.
“About what? Wyatt? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.” His heart was pounding. He noticed for the first time a blue vein in the almost translucent skin at Greer’s temple: it was pounding, too.
The cops pushed past Greer and entered the house. Wyatt, Greer, the chief, and a uniformed cop waited in the doorway, out of the rain. Wyatt heard doors opening and closing, heavy footsteps on a staircase and down in the basement, nightsticks tapping on walls. One by one the cops came back, shaking their heads. They got in the cruisers and took off, lights flashing but sirens off. Only the chief and his driver stayed behind.
The chief turned to Wyatt. “You spent the night here?”
Wyatt nodded.
“Then went out for coffee?”
He nodded again.
“When was the last time you saw Sonny Racine?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Where? In the visitors’ room at the prison, of course. Has something happened to him?”
“You wrote ‘family friend’ on the visitor form,” the chief said. “Elaborate.”
So that was it. “It’s not a lie,” Wyatt said. “I just didn’t know what to put.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it turns out he’s my biological father-I’d never met him in my life before I came here.”
The chief nodded. “Not as uncommon a situation as you might think-lots of the inmates are that way, like animals,” he said. “Any reason why you decided to look him up at this point?”
Greer spoke first. “Why shouldn’t he? Wouldn’t you be curious?”
The chief looked at her. “Maybe,” he said. “At that age. Which is kind of what I’m getting at here. At your age it’s easy to make mistakes that change your whole life. Wouldn’t want to see that happen. You follow?”
“No,” Greer said. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“First, I was talking to young Wyatt here,” the chief said. “Second, I believe you. If I didn’t, the two of you’d be in a cell right now.”
“Why?” Wyatt said.
“Because,” the chief said, “Sonny Racine’s on the loose.”
“Oh my God,” Greer said.
“On the loose?” Wyatt said. “He escaped?”
“Not from the prison,” said the chief. “That’s never happened yet. But they were taking him to the hospital and he broke out of the van. Called for help and when they stopped and opened up he just sprang. Apparently wasn’t cuffed-totally against procedure-on account of his injuries and long peaceable record.”
“What injuries?” Wyatt said.
“He took a beating of some sort-don’t have the details as yet. But the point I’m making-if he tries to contact you, get in touch with us right away. You’ll be doing him a favor. Escapees never get away, but they often die trying, if you see what I mean.” His eyes went to Greer, back to Wyatt. “I’ll take that for a yes,” he said. “Aiding and abetting are felonies, probably so obvious it’s a waste of breath to mention.” He turned and walked away, the driver following. They got in the cruiser and rode off, the chief glancing back just before they turned a corner.
The wind picked up, whipped a curtain of rain into the house. Greer closed the door. They stepped into each other’s arms. Wyatt had a bad, bad feeling inside, and her embrace didn’t take it away.
“This is horrible,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Why would he do it, after all these years?”
“Haven’t got a clue,” Greer said. “Let’s find out.”
“Find out? How?”
She took him by the hand, led him up the stairs. The cops had left their damp footprints on the bare treads. “There used to be a nice soft carpet,” Greer said. “I loved sitting on these stairs when I was a kid, seeing the tops of people’s heads. Lots of parties in those days.”
At the top they turned right, walked down a hall. The wall had light rectangular patches at picture-hanging level. They entered a room at the end of the hall.
“My dad’s bedroom,” Greer said. “Mom and Dad’s, in ancient times; then he moved to the couch, then she moved out and he moved back.” The closet door was open; she walked toward it. “I used to search the house from top to bottom before my birthday,” she said, “trying to find the presents.” She went into the closet, a completely empty cedar closet with a bare rail for hanging clothes and three brass hooks on the back wall. “I never did find my dad’s hidey-hole-he ended up telling me where it was after they put him away, on account of some papers he needed.” Greer reached for the top right-hand hook. “Some papers he needed burned, actually.”
Greer twisted the hook. Wyatt heard a faint click. A portion of the wall swung open. This was a cleverly concealed door, its edges hidden in the grooves between the cedar planks, the hinges on the inside, and also
