The sirens sounded again, and just like that, the Butcher turned and ran away.
That snapped me out of my haze. Again I thought: Uh-uh, no way. No way was he getting away from me. The Butcher may be fast, but I was faster and I had desire on my side. There was no way he was getting away with this.
I thought the Butcher would head for the woods, but instead he headed for the neighbor’s backyard. There was no hesitation on my part. Not anymore. I sprinted with everything I had toward him. We ran through one backyard, then another, then a third.
I was closing the gap.
Behind me I heard voices. Someone yelled, “Stop!” I didn’t. I figured that I’d obey when the Butcher did. He leapt over a hedge. I leapt it too.
Only ten feet separated us when he finally veered into the woods. It wouldn’t do him any good. I was there. I was going to catch up to him and take him down and…
I went down hard.
Someone had tackled me. He was straddling me.
“Stop! Police!”
I looked up into the face of Chief Taylor!
“Don’t move!” he shouted.
“Let me go! You gotta go after him!”
But Chief Taylor wouldn’t listen to me. “I said, ‘Don’t move.’ Lie flat on the ground and put your hands on your head.”
“He’s getting away!”
“Now!”
Taylor started to flip me onto my stomach. I let him roll me and just kept going with it, throwing him off me. I jumped back to my feet.
“We can’t let him go!” I shouted, turning back toward the woods.
But by now another officer was there. And another. One went for my legs, the other hit me high. I fell back to the ground. Taylor stood over me, his face red with rage. He reared back his foot as if to kick me, and then I heard another voice shout, “Get away from him, Ed!”
It was Uncle Myron.
Taylor turned to the voice. I tried to get up, tried to keep running after the Butcher, because there was no time to explain, not really, and I figured that they’d follow me and I could explain later. I actually managed to shrug him off, but when I looked back at the woods, there was no one, not a sound. I hesitated, looking for him, giving the cops a fresh chance to grab me.
There was no point in struggling anymore.
The night fell silent. The Bat Lady’s house burned down to the ground. And the Butcher was gone.
CHAPTER 24
I told anyone I could about the blond guy, but they weren’t listening. Still red-faced, Chief Ed Taylor took out his handcuffs.
“You’re under arrest,” he said to me. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
He reached for my arm, but Uncle Myron stepped between us. “What’s the charge?”
“You’re kidding, right? How about arson, for starters?”
“You saw him start that fire?”
“No,” Taylor said, “but he was running away.”
“Maybe because, oh, I don’t know, the fire could have burned him?” Myron snapped. “What did you want him to do-put it out?”
Taylor’s hands tightened into fists. “Well, Bolitar, how about the rest of it-resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer-”
“You jumped him in the dark,” Myron said. “And all he did was roll you off him. He never hit you. If you’re embarrassed that a teenager got the better of you…”
Chief Taylor’s face turned even redder. Oh, this wasn’t helping.
“I’m bringing him in, Bolitar. Get out of my way.”
“Where are you taking him?”
“To the station for initial booking, then a bail appearance down in Newark.”
“Bail? Isn’t that a little overkill, Ed?”
“He might be a flight risk.”
“He’s a kid, for crying out loud.” Myron put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t say a word, Mickey, do you hear me? Not one word.” He turned back to Taylor. “I will be following your vehicle. As his attorney I’m forbidding you from questioning him.”
Taylor had his cuffs out. “Hands behind your back.”
“Seriously, Ed?” Myron said.
“Procedure,” Taylor replied. “Unless you think your nephew deserves special treatment.”
“It’s okay,” I said, putting my hands behind my back. Chief Taylor cuffed me. One of his men guided me into the back of a squad car and sat next to me. Chief Taylor took the front seat.
I looked back at the burning house. I thought about those photographs-the one of Ashley, the one of that sad-eyed boy with the curly hair. I thought about all I had seen and heard there and wondered what it all meant. That house, I figured, had been the headquarters for the Abeona Shelter. Now it was gone, burned down by…
Who? The Butcher of Lodz? A man who would be ninety but still looked in his thirties? Did that make any sense?
And most of all, the question that kept coming back to me again and again: What had he done with my father?
“I can’t believe it,” Taylor said.
I looked toward the rearview mirror and met Chief Taylor’s eyes. I wanted to ask what he was talking about, but I remembered what Myron had said about keeping quiet.
The cop next to me made it easier: “What can’t you believe?”
“Bolitar. The kid’s uncle.”
“What about him?”
“He’s following us in a stretch limo.”
It wasn’t easy to turn around with my hands cuffed, but I managed enough. Chief Taylor was right. We were indeed being followed by a big black limousine.
“So, Mickey,” Chief Taylor said, “this is the second time I’ve caught you near that old house. You want to tell me why?”
“No, sir.”
“Maybe you got a thing for old ladies,” Chief Taylor said, and in his mocking voice I could hear the echo of his son’s Ema Moo! “Is that it, Mickey? Do you dig grannies or something?”
I didn’t rise to the bait. Even the cop next to me was frowning at this lame approach.
The Kasselton police station was located across the street from Kasselton High School. A few hours ago, I’d been quietly celebrating my basketball debut in a gymnasium a few yards from where I was now being brought in by cops. Life is definitely a series of thin lines.
Taylor slipped out of his seat and closed the door behind him. A few seconds later, the cop sitting next to me helped me out. The limousine was right behind us. The back door opened, and Myron stepped out.
“You have a limo now, Bolitar?” Chief Taylor said. He ran his hand along the roof of the stretch. “You must really think you’re hot stuff.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“No? Then whose is it?”
“Actually”-and now I thought I saw the smallest hint of a smile on Myron’s face-“it belongs to Angelica Wyatt.”
Taylor scoffed at that. “Sure, right, and I’m George Clooney.”
The tinted back window slid down. When Angelica Wyatt stuck her gorgeous face out the window, smiled, and said, “Are you the town police chief? What a pleasure to meet you,” I thought Taylor would have a stroke.
“Uh, Miss Wyatt… oh, my, is it really you? We’re all big fans, aren’t we, fellas?”
There were five cops surrounding the limousine now. They all nodded like puppets. Angelica Wyatt awarded them with yet another smile. She said something else, I couldn’t hear it, but some of the cops began to chuckle. I met Uncle Myron’s eyes and he rolled them.
Angelica Wyatt made a comment about how handsome men in uniform were. I saw Chief Taylor pet down his hair and puff out his chest. Really? Are we men this easily taken? Then I thought about Rachel Caldwell. Hadn’t she done something similar to me when we first met? Hadn’t I fallen for it?
I bet Ema would have something cutting, funny, and true to say about this.
Myron and I stood away from the rest of them. My hands were still cuffed behind my back. Angelica Wyatt continued to talk to Chief Taylor. He continued to giggle like a schoolgirl.