Moonbog (18 page)

“Well, you know,” David started to say, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, “we’re . . . we’re family. I thought that . . . that . . . Forget it!”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Marshall mutter, “I have.”

Again, David’s anger rose. “You could at least ask me in for a goddamn cup of coffee! You could act a little bit like . . . like . . . like it
mattered
that we’re family! Christ! What’s the matter with you?” He slammed his open hand against the side of the house. It hurt. “Maybe I wanted you to act like—Christ—like anything!”

Marshall glared over his shoulder at David but said nothing.

“Maybe I just wanted you . . . you of anyone here in this goddamn piss-water town to make me feel welcome!” He checked his anger, then laughed softly. “Maybe I just expected you to tell me I should keep the house and maybe move back to Holland to live.” He shook his head solemnly.

“Well, I ain’t gonna’,” Marshall said, not looking at him. “You can do whatever you damn please, boy. Don’t matter any to me.”

David checked the quick retort that came to his mind. He smiled and, with that smile, wiped away any sympathy, any affection,
any
emotion he might have felt for the old man. He strode to his car, got in, started it up, and drove away. As he pulled around in the driveway, he saw that Marshall had turned around and was watching him. He restrained himself from flashing his middle finger at him as he left the driveway in a swirl of dust. As far as he was concerned, that was the last time he would ever see his Uncle Marshall.

III

“A
ll right,” Virgil Shaw said as he stood in front of the men gathered in his office and rubbed his hands together vigorously. “We’ve wasted a good part of the morning, and with the weather forecast callin’ for rain tonight, we’d better get going.”

The room dropped into hushed whispers as the men made themselves comfortable. In the far corner Del Montgomery, leaned against the wall. He looked at the assembly with a strange mixture of suspicion and boredom. Seated in front of Shaw was Winston Cameron, the troop leader for the Boy Scouts. Beside him, chain smoking, was Bradley Silverberg, the high school principal. Jerry Wescott and Frank Schroder from the highway department were sitting over by the coffee pot. Near the door to the outer office, looking pale and nervous, Robert Hollis was whispering to Pastor Clement. The missing boy’s father was wringing his hands. The atmosphere in the room was thick.

“Latham’s late, as usual,” Schroder said. The thin wave of laughter did nothing to lighten the mood.

“OK. OK. We’ve got a lot to do, so let’s get going.” Shaw walked over to where he had a large-scale map of the town pasted on the wall. A stern-faced man standing by the map, was studying the contours of the area.

“First off, I want to introduce Lieutenant Porter from the State Police barracks in Scarborough.”

Porter turned around and nodded without a flicker of expression. “The lieutenant will be helping to organize the search for Jeffy Hollis.”

Shaw took a pen from his pocket and pointed at the map as he spoke. “Now, you all know that Jeffy was last seen near his backyard.”

Everyone nodded, but Cameron raised his hand and spoke. “Chief, all of us have heard a lot of things about what happened; but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure any of us knows exactly what happened.”

“If we knew that,” Schroder interrupted, “we wouldn’t have a missing boy, now, would we?”

Cameron was flustered. “No, I don’t mean that. I mean, I’ve heard so many cockamamie things, I want to know exactly what happened.”

“Fine.” Shaw tapped the map again. “Jeffy was playing in his backyard with a friend, Les Rankin’s boy, Sammy. He was last seen running off into the Bog area, about here, just before sunset.”

“You’re sure he went into the Bog?” Wescott asked. “Sure as we can be,” Shaw replied. Wescott shook his head and whistled softly.

“We got the call from Linda Hollis about a half-hour after dark, after she got a call from Leah Rankin.”

“Goddamn, if he went into that Bog . . .” Wescott said, letting his voice trail off.

“Sir,” Porter said suddenly. Everyone was surprised that he spoke, and they all looked up at him. “We have a search pattern to employ, and sitting here talking about how bad the situation is, is not going to rectify it. Please continue, Chief Shaw.”

Wescott’s eyes flicked nervously around the room as he slouched into his chair.

“Well, all of you helped in the searches we had last summer when two of the boys from the area got lost in the woods. I’m sure you’ll all agree that there was a lot of wasted energy in those searches. We had so many volunteers traipsing through the woods that we didn’t know who was searching where.

“In an effort to prevent that kind of carnival atmosphere again, everyone is going to be a part of a search team. Each search team will be assigned a specific area to cover.”

“How much help we gonna’ have?” Cameron asked. “I thought you wanted me to get as many scouts as I could?”

“I do,” Shaw replied. “What I’m saying is that, once we have our searchers together, we’re going to control the search areas as tightly as possible. Each team will keep in constant radio contact with the base.”

“We’ll field plenty of men,” Porter said solemnly, “but we’re going to keep strict control over where those men are.”

“Sounds good to me,” Wescott said. There was scattered agreement heard around the room.

“Good.” Shaw picked up a Magic Marker from his desk. He drew a small X on the map almost at the end of Briar Road. “This is the Hollis’ house. Because it is so close to the Bog, that’s where we’ll begin to look. For a radio base, though, well be using this.” He made another X on the map. “All of you know where the large boulder is, at the end of the Little River Road past old man Logan’s place. Because of the elevation, we think it’ll be a better center.

“We’ll be restricting the whole area of the Bog while we search, putting up roadblocks all around and trying to keep out everyone who isn’t a member of a team. Perhaps Mr. Porter will explain the method of searching we’ll be using.”

Porter straightened his shoulders and began with no introduction. “There are a variety of patterns to use in a search, and each pattern has its strengths and weaknesses, depending on the area to be searched and other factors. What we’ve decided on is a quadrant search. Basically, what we’ll be doing is dividing the area into roughly equal squares and, using the base as a starting point, combing each square thoroughly.”

“How ‘bout the water area? Gonna’ be kinda’ hard to check all of that.”

Porter cleared his throat. “We have a scuba team coming this afternoon. They’re going to drag the water. Of course, besides the open water, you all know that the Bog has plenty of wet ground, so everybody should wear boots—hip boots if you have them.”

“See, that’s another reason for having teams. I don’t think you need to be reminded about how dangerous the Bog is. There’s lots of sinkholes and quicksand, and this way, with a sort of buddy system, we’ll be sure nobody else becomes missing.”

“Aww, come on,” Schroder called out, waving his hand with a gesture of dismissal, “we’ve grown up around here; we know the Bog like the backs of our hands.”

Shaw tugged at his belt, then placed his foot on his chair and leaned forward like he meant business. “Last summer,” he said sharply, “we were goddamn lucky we didn’t lose anyone else in that damn Bog. You fellas may know the area well, but there were people driving more than two hours to come and help us search for those missing boys. They didn’t know the Bog, and we could’ve lost any number of ‘em.”

Porter interrupted, his voice controlled yet commanding. “By having teams, we can insure two things: no one will ever be out in the Bog alone, where he might—I say
might
—get into trouble; also, what one pair of eyes misses, the other pair of eyes might not miss. Our goal is to not have to cover the same ground twice.”

“Any questions?” Shaw asked, straightening up and scanning the group. There weren’t any.

“OK. I want every available person to meet out at the boulder within a half-hour. Once there, we’ll divide into teams and assign areas. Like Lt. Porter says, everyone should be dressed for wet, muddy work.”

Wescott stood up slowly. “Uhh, Chief, you know that me and my boys won’t be out ‘til later today, probably not ‘til after lunch.”

Shaw nodded.

“We’re still out working on outer Bridge Street and can’t leave it just yet.”

“Any time anyone can help will be appreciated,” Shaw said.

“Fine.” Wescott started moving toward the door, and Schroder stood up to follow his boss out when Shaw spoke again, halting them.

“Just a minute guys. Before you go, I want to say a few words.”

The two men from the highway department took their seats again. Shaw clasped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “I just want to . . . to give you a few words about—” he glanced nervously over at Robert Hollis before continuing—”about what to do if, if the worst has happened.”

The gathered men shifted uneasily.

“Now I know it’s pretty damn hard for you all to grasp, but of course we have to suspect that . . . that here’s been some foul play. After what happened to Billy Wilson, well. . . .” Shaw glanced over at Bob Hollis, who was staring vacantly at the floor.

“Jeffy was wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans, am a light blue jacket.”

“He . . . he may have had his baseball cap on,” Bob Hollis said in a broken voice. “It’s . . . it’s bright red.

Shaw nodded. “Just keep your eyes peeled. And . . . and one final word of caution. If, and God help us it hasn’t, but if it turns out that what happened to Billy, Wilson has happened to Jeffy, and you find his body, it’s important that you do not move the body.”

Porter broke right in, as if they had the line rehearsed. “It’s absolutely
imperative
that the body not be disturbed. In an investigation like this, which may be connected to the previous unsolved murder, we have to inspect the body where it’s found. Some slight yet important clues may be easily obliterated.’

“OK. Let’s get moving,” Shaw said. “I hope to hell we don’t have to continue this search after dark, but if need be, I’m sure you boys’ll be willin’ to stay ouy there ‘til dawn.”

There was a murmur of agreement as the men prepared to leave. Shaw found it impossible to take his eyes away from Bob Hollis as he shuffled slowly toward the door. For one of the few times in his life. Shaw was glad that he and Sylvia had never had children; he would never have to go through what that man was going through right now.

“Make sure you bring plenty of fly dope,” Schroder called out as he neared the door. “If the black flies don’t chew you to pieces right there on the spot, they’ll carry you off into the woods and finish you off later.” He laughed at his joke, but his laughter stopped short under the stern looks he received.

IV

A
fter the men left the office, Shaw was left alone with Porter. The two men looked at one another, each realizing that he was unable to know what the other as feeling.

Porter was the first to break the awkward silence, and when he did, it was in his cool, professional way.

“Chief Shaw,” he said, “before we head out, there are a few lines of investigation I’d like to check on.”

Shaw felt more than a slight irritation at the man’s apparent callousness, but he quickly tempered it with he thought that Porter was doing the right thing remaining emotionally detached from the case.

“This person who reported the first body, David Logan, have you checked to find out where he was yesterday afternoon and evening?”

Shaw felt proud that he had. “First thing this morning. He was at Pastor Clement’s house for tea. Then, that evening, he was seen at the Sawmill—a local bar.”

Porter’s lower lip twitched slightly. “And it checked out?”

Shaw nodded.

“Good.”

“You don’t suspect
him
, do you?” Shaw asked with surprise.

Porter’s face remained frozen. “We just have to be sure we check out everything.
Everything
. One other thing. You mentioned that this boulder that we’ll be using as a base, that it’s near to some houses, right?”

Shaw nodded. “Yeah, there are a few houses, some new developments that border close to the Bog, and Old Man Logan, Marshall Logan, his land goes right up to the Bog.”

“And have you checked with these people who live in the vicinity, to see it they heard or saw anything around there last night?”

Shaw shook his head. “Didn’t get a chance to. I was pretty busy this morning organizing the search.”

Porter nodded thoughtfully and then took a note pad from his pocket and scribbled something down. “Well, first opportunity, we’ll have to go out there and talk to this Mr. Logan and some of the other families.”

“Sure,” Shaw said, as he picked up his jacket an
d
pulled it on. “Right now, let’s get out there and ge
t
those search parties moving.”