"What about the neighboring houses? He might be hiding in a garage or a shed."
"No. The houses aren't in the park. When we played the game, we never broke the rules and went out of bounds."
Rutherford shook his head unhappily and walked to the men who'd searched the area. He spoke to the officer in charge, who looked eager to get out of the rain but who nodded and shouted orders, motioning for the line to reverse direction.
Rutherford came back to Cavanaugh and Jamie. "Show me the details that bothered you."
"The ground under every picnic table needs to be checked," Cavanaugh said, walking.
Rutherford thought about it. "Sure. The grass under some of them is worn away until there's only dirt. If he dug a hole there, it would be easier to disguise than if he dug up the grass. The problem is, he'd need a cover, something solid that he could put dirt on and slide over the hole after he got in."
"When we drove into town, I noticed a half-dozen construction sites," Cavanaugh said. "The night before last, he could have grabbed a square of plywood and something to dig with."
"Where would he have put the dirt from the hole?"
"Spread along the creek bed. Covered with leaves."
"How would he have carried it?"
"In a bag he found at a construction site. An empty cement bag is strong enough to hold forty pounds."
"But the dirt on the plywood lid would look freshly dug."
"Not if Carl packed it down until he was satisfied that it looked like the dirt under all the other benches. Leaves on the lid would hide the cracks at the edges."
"Ventilation?"
"A tube coming up next to a table leg."
"Well, if that's where he's hiding," Rutherford concluded, "he's in rising water. He'll need to climb out soon."
"You'd be surprised how snug and dry you can make a hole in the ground with a little help from a plastic sheet."
"More of the good old days in Delta?"
"Actually, the good old days when Carl and I were kids. This is one of the tricks he used against me."
Chapter 28.
In the rain, the line searched the park in greater detail, moving picnic tables, looking under play equipment, examining the edges of shelters for signs that someone had dug under the concrete pads. They found nothing.
"They need to do it again," Cavanaugh said. "Those garbage cans in wooden frames. Let's push them aside and see if Carl's in a hole under one of them."
Carl wasn't.
"That storm-drain lid needs to be pried up. The tunnel needs to be checked."
But the tunnel was filled with water.
"Look for evidence that Carl dug under the concrete paths."
Four hours and five crossings later, Rutherford said firmly, "We're wasting our time. He isn't here."
"But--"
"Either he tricked you, or else you made a mistake about the place he meant."
"This is it. There's no other place."
Rutherford studied the shivering, wet, exhausted men. Many of them coughed. Wind gusted. Dark clouds thickened. "I'm calling off the search."
"No. Please."
"They've been out here since three in the morning," Rutherford said. "Somebody'll end up in the hospital."
"Just one more time."
"To prove that you're wrong? As far as Mosely's concerned, that would be the only good thing to come out of this. Okay, Aaron. Just for you. One more time."
They probed the sand under the playground equipment. Farther along, they did the same to the wood chips around the climbing-gym.
Yet again, they found nothing.
Water trickling down his face, Rutherford pointed toward TV news cameras near the park. "They should air this after a Three Stooges marathon. I can only hope the rain blurs any shots they took of me." He turned toward the searchers. "We're finished, everybody! The buses will arrive soon! We'll take you somewhere warm and dry!"
"Coffee," someone said.
"Steaming pots of it," Rutherford promised. He stared at a puddle in the grass. "A thousand men. Some flew in from across the country. Food. Lodging. Buses. Vans. Weapons. Equipment." He gazed up at Cavanaugh. "Nothing to show for it. Mosely's waiting for me to report to him. I can imagine his reaction when I tell him how much everything cost. This time tomorrow, I might be looking for a new job."
Shoulders bent, Rutherford walked toward Teg Drive and the van. The lines disintegrated, soaked men wandering toward the nearby streets.
Burdened with discouragement, Cavanaugh remained in the middle of the field. Jamie stood next to him, the rain gusting at them. Emptiness made him feel colder.
"Want to take a stroll?" he asked.
"It's been a fabulous experience so far. Let's prolong it as much as possible."
He couldn't help smiling. "I love you."
"Of course, you do. I don't want diamonds or fancy clothes. All I want is to share the glamour of your life."
Chapter 29.
They walked east of the park and reached an upward-sloping street called Hafor Drive. As the rain strengthened, Cavanaugh held Jamie's hand and went a half block before stopping in front of a gray, two-story, colonial house. It had carefully pruned evergreen shrubs, an ambitious flower garden (now wilted in autumn), and a well-maintained lawn.
"This is where I lived. In my memory, every house on the street is a brilliant white. But as you see, they're all different in reality. Gray. Brown. Blue. Maybe they always were. I guess I only imagined they gleamed." Cavanaugh pointed toward the second level. "There, on the left, that was my bedroom. The house on that side had the dog I played with."
"The one that disappeared?"
"Yes. The house farther along on the left is where Carl lived. Now that I think about it, in my memory that one definitely doesn't gleam. I knew too much about Carl's father and what went on inside that house. So long ago." Cavanaugh turned to look down the street toward the rain-veiled park. "I can see Carl and me on the sidewalk, heading for the creek and those trees."