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(33)

Paul was surprised to see the young officer approach the cell with keys in hand. “What, no breakfast today?”

A tired smile crossed the officer’s face as he inserted the key into the cell lock. “Not unless you’re cooking it yourself.” He swung the door open wide and stepped aside for Paul to pass. “Come on up front and I’ll get you your belongings. Oh, by the way, I’m Robert Ortiz, pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Greymore.” He offered his hand.

Paul was momentarily taken aback. He had been treated with nothing but contempt and derision, yet here was a police officer actually treating him like a human. He shook hands, feeling dazed. Was this guy being serious? Or was his civility some kind of set up? “Why am I being released? Did somebody post bail?”

Ortiz held his eyes for a long moment, and then glanced back toward the office. He leaned close to Greymore. “There have been, ah, new developments. The charges are being dropped.” He turned and walked back to the front of the station. Speaking in a louder voice, he added, “I just need you to sign a couple of forms and I can release your belongings and get you on your way.”

Greymore took the hint to not follow up with any questions about the “developments.” Was he being baited? He felt the stares of the other officers in the station; their loathing was like a physical force. He was used to it. “Can I use the phone to call for a ride?”

Ortiz turned. “No need, Mr. Greymore, I’ll be happy to drop you back home.” Ortiz made a production of getting the paperwork together and making sure Greymore accounted for each item that was returned to him. Finally they made their way outside, away from the cloying hatred of the police station. The heat was brutal, even though it was barely ten o’clock. The sun smoldered dully behind the thick haze, sure to burn through by noon and raise the temperature even more.

Greymore opened the back door to the cruiser and heard a snort from Ortiz. “Mr. Greymore, you are not under arrest anymore. You can sit up front, I don’t bite.”

Feeling half-foolish and half-suspicious, Greymore slipped into the furnace of the passenger seat. Ortiz pulled out of the parking lot, headed toward the lake. Greymore felt the young officer’s frequent glances, felt himself being sized up. “Can I ask you a question, Officer?”

“You just did.” Ortiz responded with a grin.

For the first time Greymore felt at ease, no longer wary of Otriz’s motives. Growing up as an outcast, Paul had developed a keen skill for reading people. Spending seventeen years in prison had honed that skill to precision. “If the charges are being dropped, that can only mean the child turned up, someone else confessed, or another child went missing while I was in custody.”

Ortiz looked at Paul thoughtfully. “You might have made a good cop, Mr. Greymore…”

“Please, call me Paul.”

“Okay Paul. One of your scenarios didn’t happen.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Well, you gave three scenarios for why you are being released. Nobody confessed.”

“Officer Ortiz, I’m sorry but you’re not making a lot of sense.”

“No Paul, I owe you an apology for being evasive. It’s been a hell of a long night and I’m so tired I doubt I’ll be able to sleep.” Ortiz took a slow breath, then glanced again at Greymore before continuing. “Two things happened last night. Mike Noonan was brought home safely. He ditched school and went to the Sox game. Spent all his money and had to thumb home. Staties picked him up and drove him back to Haven. Happy ending, right?”

“Yes, but I gather the second thing wasn’t so happy?”

“No. A boy and his dog were killed last night at the lake. Not just killed… I’m sorry, I can’t go into detail. Let’s just say things are starting to look a lot like 1961. Damn, I really shouldn’t have said anything.”

Paul saw a look on the man’s face that seemed both angry and helpless at the same time. “Why did you say anything, Officer Ortiz?”

They pulled into Paul’s driveway and Ortiz put the car in park. He took a long look at Paul before answering. “It seems to me, Mr. Grey… Paul, that you got a raw deal. Something doesn’t sit right with me about your case. I’ve read all the reports, even talked to a few folks, unofficially. Just a gut feeling. And you never heard this from me, but the way Chief Crawford obsesses over you… I don’t know, gut feeling. Don’t make me regret telling you. And by the way, please call me Robert.”

Paul nodded, then opened the car door and got out. Then he leaned in and reached his hand across to Ortiz. “Thank you, Robert.”

Ortiz shook his hand. “You’re welcome… but what are you thanking me for?”

“For being decent. I don’t get that a lot.” He shut the door and walked slowly toward the lake, not turning as Ortiz gunned out of the driveway. Now at least he knew who made the phone call to Father McCarthy yesterday.

(34)

For the few hours when Mike Noonan’s “disappearance” was the focus of Haven PD, one officer had sat and called the departments of towns within a fifty-mile radius to alert them to be on the lookout for a missing boy. Eventually someone on the Bristol Police force remembered the DeMarcy case and did some investigating.

The news of Tony DeMarcy’s disappearance had spread through the school quickly, as all good stories do. Denny glanced around the hall as Billy made his way toward him through the crowd. Denny could pick up snatches of conversation as other students rushed by.

“I heard the Butcher got Tony…”

“…and Crawford’s out for blood…”

Denny had heard the rumors first thing this morning but it wasn’t until lunch that he had been able to get any details. He and Billy were in separate afternoon classes.

“What’d you find out?” Billy asked as he opened his locker.

“It looks like Tony thumbed down from Bristol to hang out with Dale and the gang a few weeks ago. For whatever reason they didn’t hook up. A kid matching Tony’s description was seen in a canoe on the lake that day. Nobody’s seen Tony since.”

“Shit. Crawford is gonna go after Paul.”

“I know. We’ve got to do something. I can’t help thinking that there’s some connection to the tunnels we found. I think we should tell your dad.”

Billy looked blankly at him. “What connection? And what could my dad do about it?”

Denny shook his head slowly. “I don’t know but I can’t stop thinking about it. I guess we could go in and take another look around…”

“You’re the boss, if you think it’s worth a try…” he paused for a minute, “To tell you the truth, it scares the shit out of me to go back in there.”

Denny sighed. “I’m glad it’s not just me being a wimp. It didn’t feel right in there. But we have to do this for Paul and for your dad.”

“Alright. First thing in the morning we’ll go in.”

Out in the bright sunlight of a steamy spring afternoon, the caves lost some of their threat. They planned the next day as they headed to the bus area. “This time we’ll bring spray paint to mark the trail, and extra flashlights, and if…” Suddenly Denny was being pulled roughly around the corner of the school, away from the hordes of students, into the shadows. He and Billy found themselves pinned against the back of the school, surrounded by Crawford and his gang. Tony Costa, Buddy Dentner and some other punk Denny didn’t recognize stood flanking Crawford. The cut on Denny’s face began to itch, as if recognizing its creator.

“You didn’t think we were done the other night, did you O’Brien?” Crawford sneered.