It couldn’t be, he reasoned.
How?
Browning swallowed and forced himself to think. The gate to the back alley didn’t lock. They could have parked in the alley, come into the back yard and grabbed Marcus there. But the slider door was open. Did Marcus leave it open or did those sonsabitches come into his house and snatch his son right next to his own train set?
Thought fell away again and panic rushed through him.
He staggered into the living room. “Marcus!”
Veronica yanked open the screen door. Worry creased her features. “What is it?”
Browning opened his mouth to answer.
The closet door where Browning usually hung his coat burst open. Marcus Browning leapt out. He extended his arms wide and yelled, “Boo!”
Browning’s eyes snapped to him.
Marcus lowered his arms. His expression became concerned. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”
Browning sank to his knees, relief washing over him. He beckoned to his son. “Come here,” he whispered thickly.
Marcus smiled and stepped into his father’s embrace, throwing his small arms around Browning’s neck. Browning drew him close. He stroked his son’s hair. He breathed in the scent of his skin and the fabric softener on his clothing.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Marcus repeated.
Veronica’s hand settled onto his shoulder and squeezed.
“Nothing,” Browning said. “Everything’s all right.”
Marcus hugged him tightly. “I hid pretty good, huh?”
“You did.”
“When I jumped out, did I scare you?”
Browning kissed his son’s head and gave him another squeeze. “Yeah. You scared me.”
He felt the boy’s smile against his own cheek. “Love you, Daddy.”
Browning smiled himself. “Love you, too.”
“Want to see what I changed with my trains?” Marcus asked eagerly.
Browning patted him on the rear. “Sure. Let’s go check it out.”
Marcus broke away from the embrace and sprinted down the hall.
Browning rose. He looked at his wife. Her eyes held a momentary question, but as soon as he met her gaze, the question became understanding instead. Maybe not of the specific facts, he knew, but she understood what she needed to understand.
Veronica took his coat from him and kissed him softly on the corner of the mouth. “Go check out those trains,” she whispered.
Browning looked at her for another moment, told her a thousand things in that glance, then turned and followed his son down the hall.
ELEVEN
2310 hours
Traffic was light as Katie MacLeod cruised down Mission Street. She pulled into the parking lot of a dry cleaner’s that was closed and fished her cell phone out of her bag. It was an extravagance she couldn’t have afforded if she worked day shift. The company charged over two dollars a minute during those prime hours. But at night, she had thirty free minutes a month and only paid a quarter a minute after that. So it was an affordable luxury.
She dialed Kopriva’s number. He answered on the third ring.
“Hey, girl,” he said.
“Hey, boy,” she said back. “What are you doing?”
“Watching TV,” Kopriva said. “Doing sit-ups during the commercials.”
“How many?”
“Just twenty-five.”
“Per commercial?”
He laughed. “Per break. And I’m starting to hate advertisers,” he said.
Katie laughed back. “Well, keep it up. I like those tummy muscles.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What are you watching?”
“Clint Eastwood.”
“Which?”
“The Outlaw Josey Wales,” Kopriva answered.
“Is that the one where he’s in Mexico?”
“No. It’s the one where he’s the outlaw after the Civil War.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen it.”
“Yeah, you have. We rented it back before Christmas. It’s the one where he shoots the rope on the ferry.”
“Oh, yeah. With the carpetbagger guy.”
“Exactly. What are you doing?”
“I am on routine patrol,” she said, quoting an inside joke they shared.
“How is it?”
She thought she could hear a tinge of envy in his voice.
“It’s slow,” she told him, even though it hadn’t been. “But it’s my Friday.”
“That’s great. You want to do something after I get off work tomorrow?”
Katie smiled coyly. “Yes.”
He seemed to sense her smile in the tone of her voice. “You’re a naughty girl, MacLeod.”
“Shhhhh. This is a cell phone. People will hear. The secret will get out.”
“It’s safe with me,” Kopriva said. “You want me to come over after I finish with another one hundred boring and pointless phone calls?”
“That bad, huh?”
“Either it’s a crap lead or it’s someone trying to cash in on a reward.”
“Is there a reward?”
“Not that I know of. But that doesn’t stop them from trying to cash in.”
Katie shook her head in disgust. “Nothing like a little personal tragedy to bring out the vultures.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Anyway, I can come by around five-thirty, if you want,” Kopriva said.
“I’ve got a subpoena to court for tomorrow,” Katie told him. “I’m supposed to testify around nine. So I’ll probably go home and sleep after that. Why don’t I just meet you at your place?”
“I’ll have to clean,” he joked.
“You have all night,” she teased back.
There was an eruption of gunfire in the background on Kopriva’s end.
“What was that?”
“A couple of trappers just tried to kill Josey Wales.”
“Oh. I assume they failed.”
“To hell with them fellers,” Kopriva quoted in a barely passable Clint Eastwood imitation. “Buzzards gotta eat, same as worms.”
“Baker-126, Baker-124, for an alarm,” Katie’s radio chirped.
She reached for the mike and answered up.
“I gotta go, Stef,” she said into the cell phone. “They’re sending me on a call.”
“Be safe.”
“See you, babe.” She hung up as the dispatcher chattered out the details of the call.
2311 hours
When she heard the door creak open, Amy Dugger tried to pretend she was asleep. She hoped that it was the woman who called herself “Grammy” coming into the attic. But when she smelt the stale beer and harsh cologne, she knew it was Grandpa Fred, the man with the scary eyes. She squeezed her eyes tightly.
His weight settled onto the small futon.
“Amy-Girl?” he whispered, stroking her hair.
Amy shuddered. There was an unpleasant tickle high in her chest. She knew that it was like a button or a light switch and that if she gave in to that tickle, she would start crying again. She kept her eyes squeezed shut.
The stroking of her hair continued. He adjusted his position next to her. She felt something hard poking at the small of her back. She imagined it as his finger or maybe a knee, but after a few moments he began to rub against her and she knew what it was.
He was touching her with his privates again.
Something hitched her chest and a sob slipped out. Once the first sob had escaped, the dam burst and tears flowed from behind her closed eyes.
The rubbing stopped.
“Ah, not as sleepy as I thought,” he said. “Good, good.”
He took her by the shoulder and rolled her over to face him.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
Amy opened them wide.
“Are you glad to see me, Amy?” he asked in a whisper.
Amy’s mind raced. She wasn’t glad to see him. She never wanted to see him again. But what should she say? Would he hurt her mommy if she gave the wrong answer? For a moment, she let herself continue to cry, avoiding the question. She was afraid of saying no, but she was also afraid of what would happen if she said yes.
He wasn’t going to let the question slide. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice turning gruff. “You’ve got nothing to cry about. Didn’t I bring you McDonald’s for dinner tonight? Didn’t I make you special pancakes before?”