The Fort (10 page)

Knowing that he needed to ignore the pain, both present and yet to come, Hooper pushed the pistol into her back, hard. Amy arched away from the gun, and Hooper said, “Move.” She did.

They came out of the popples after a few hundred feet of walking through the tightly wound brush. Hooper could see the burrs all over Amy, but didn’t care like he should have. Bile was churning in his stomach, and nausea swept through him as he walked. Rain was pouring over them, and there might have been thunder, but he wasn’t sure. When he finally saw the row of houses as the trees began to give way to civilization, he ground the barrel of the pistol into Amy’s back, as though trying to share some of the pain from his leg. “If you yell or try to run, I will shoot you.” She didn’t say anything, just kept walking ahead of him with the gun in her back.

They finally made the fence, just as a tremendous roar of thunder made Hooper think for an instant he was being shot at again. He stumbled, and for a second he felt like she might run, but the moment passed. They crossed through the fence, and Hooper shut the gate behind him. The small amount of strength and energy he had left was fading; he wanted to collapse on the lawn and just sleep for a few days. He knew that was impossible, though. As much as he hated the idea of going to jail, he hated the idea of
losing Amy even more. That thought was enough to fuel him to herd her like livestock into the house.

He needed to get her into the basement and himself looking normal again. It was possible the person who had shot him had recognized him, but Hooper thought he looked too nondescript for that to happen. Either way, though, the cops were going to be here soon, that was pretty much a guarantee. Hooper slammed the sliding door shut behind him, then locked it and dropped the blinds closed.

20

Scott set the rifle back where he’d found it in Carl’s room in the basement, gave one more look around to make sure there was no other sign that he’d been in there, then shut off the light and headed upstairs. Tim was lying on the floor with a wet towel on his forehead, still looking like he might pass out. Luke wasn’t doing much better. He was sitting at the kitchen table wearing a thousand-yard stare. “You guys need to snap out of it,” said Scott. “Like, right now. I’m going to call the cops.”

They had run from the fort, not considering what would have happened if the man who had been with Molly had been laid up and waiting for them. He hadn’t been, though. By the time they burst from the woods and back onto Scott’s street, the rain had turned from a summer shower to a full-on thunderstorm. Lightning crackled in the sky, and thunder rumbled. Scott unlocked the door, and they had made it into the house when Tim’s knees buckled. “You have to help him,” Scott said to Luke, running on to the kitchen to get a towel to dry the gun, and then booking it downstairs.

“We have to tell the cops that I shot him,” Luke said now, flatly. “If we don’t, they’re going to figure it out later, and I’m going to get in a ton of trouble. I shot him. Holy shit, I shot a pers—”

“Shut up,” said Scott. “I understand that you guys are freaked out, and I am too, but we need to get our story straight, and it can’t involve the rifle.”

Luke and Tim, who was propped up on one elbow now, stared at him.

“If this guy gets caught,” Scott said, “and if they pull a bullet out of him, then we admit to it. No one will think it was a big deal because a bad guy got caught. If we say we did it before he gets caught, though, we’re just admitting that we shot someone. And
we
shot him, Luke, not just you. We did it.” Scott took a deep breath, and then continued.

“I’m going to call the cop that I talked to, and then you guys are going to call your parents, and I’m going to call my mom at work. The story we’re going to tell is simple: we tell them everything that happened except for the part about the gun. All the rest of it’s fine: we were up in the fort shooting air rifles and—”

“Luke and I don’t have our air rifles with us,” said Tim. “If that cop that Scott talked to is the same one that was at my house, he’s going to be able to see through our lies really easily. He made me feel like I’d done something wrong without even talking to me.”

Luke nodded in agreement and said, “We’ll just say we were all shooting your air rifle, Scott. That works. And it’s really close to the truth.”

“I’m going to call him now,” said Scott. “Remember what I said.” Scott dug the card from his pocket, then took the phone off of the cradle and spun the number in. He held the phone to his ear, and someone said, “Van Endel.”

“Is this Detective Van Endel?”

“This is he. Can I help you?” The detective sounded busy, gruff, and Scott could already feel fear rushing through his veins like fire. “Uhh, yeah,” said Scott. “My name’s Scott Dijkstra, and I
talked to you yesterday. I was the kid you saw with muddy shoes. My friends and I think we saw Molly Peterson with a man. He had a gun.”

“Where are you now?”

“At home, 229 Fernwood. Right where you saw me yesterday.”

“Are your friends with you?”

“Yes.”

“All right. You need to lock all the doors in the house and turn out the lights. I’m going to put this through to Emergency and get a squad car out there as soon as possible. Hang on.” Scott could hear Van Endel screaming something, but it was muffled, as though the mouthpiece on the other end had been palmed. Then Van Endel was talking to him again. “Do you know if you were seen?”

“No,” said Scott, then remembered the bullet in the man’s leg.
He had to have known someone was out there with him and Molly.
“Well, maybe. I don’t think he saw us leave the woods, though.”

“All right,” said Van Endel. Scott could hear stress in the man’s voice, and didn’t think that was a good thing. “Here’s what I want you to do. Have you locked those doors and turned out the lights?”

“No, not—”

“Have your buddies do it. Now.” When Scott had told Tim and Luke and they’d run off, Van Endel went on. “I’m going to hang up, and I want you to call 911. Let them know where you are, that you spoke to me, and that a car has already been dispatched and should be there any minute. They will verify that the officer is at your location when he gets there. Do not let anyone in the house until you are told by the 911 operator that an officer is on your porch. And stay away from the windows.”

“My friends here need to call their parents,” said Scott.

“That’s going to have to wait a few minutes. I’m going to hang up now so I can get ready to meet you when you come down here. Do you have any questions?”

“No.”

The phone clicked and turned to a dial tone. Scott pushed the button to hang up, and then slowly dialed 911. His friends were back with him and watched while he dialed. His hand was shaking as it worked the wheel, and he wondered why it had taken so long for him to realize that they could be in danger.

It was less than ten minutes later when the 911 operator named Carol said that it was OK to open the front door. Nothing had happened in the ten minutes since Scott had first dialed Van Endel until now, and he figured that was a good thing. By the tone of relief in Carol’s voice when she said that an officer was at his house, Scott could tell that she did too. He thanked her and hung up the phone, then walked to the door and slowly opened it.

A police officer was there, with his back to him. He was holding a shotgun. Without looking back, the officer said, “Go ahead and get it all the way open, son. I’m going to back in.”

Scott did as the man asked, pulling the door open as far as it would go, and then backing up as the cop methodically walked backward into his house, before slamming the door. Only then did the cop turn around. He was older, older than Carl; if he’d had to guess, Scott would have guessed he was fifty, maybe older. “Are you guys all OK?” he asked, and the boys nodded. “OK, good, really good.” He gestured with a wave to the kitchen. “Let’s go on and get away from the front door, all right?”

None of them said anything in response, they just walked where the officer told them to and he followed them into the kitchen. “I’m Officer Summers,” said the cop. “And we’ll have this thing stabilized soon. Right now we just need to hang tight until that happens. Sound good?”

“Sure,” said Tim, the first words he’d spoken since getting off of the floor. “Can we call our parents yet, though?”

Officer Summers silenced a suddenly squealing walkie-talkie, then responded, saying, “Let’s just wait for some more cops to get here, OK, guys?”

21

“Here’s what we got,” said Van Endel to Dr. Martinez. She’d come across town to the station in record time, and he owed her massively for rushing, not to mention whatever damage she might be doing to her private practice, but didn’t care at the moment. The age he’d been given for all three of the boys who had seen Molly with her abductor was twelve. Grilling suspects and adult victims and witnesses was one thing. He’d need Martinez there to help extract every little bit of information they could out of the kids.

Van Endel and Martinez were in a room with three telephones, all with separate lines, along a mirrored glass window. There were two other rooms like this in the station, all of them bordering the interrogation rooms. There was also a pair of televisions in the room, and they showed what was happening in the two rooms besides this; everything always recorded by cameras. For Van Endel, being in there felt almost like the locker room had before his knee chased him away from hockey for the last time. Getting a confession from a suspect meant a hell of a lot more than winning at some game did, though.

“Three twelve-year-olds were playing in a tree house,” Van Endel began, “when they saw two people walking in the woods.
One of them was a girl matching the description of Molly, the other one was an adult male with a gun. As soon as the two were out of sight, the boys ran off and got to a phone, then called 911.”

“They got lucky,” said Dr. Martinez. “Whoever he is, I’m sure he’d have no problem killing to keep his secret safe.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Van Endel. “Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because you already think they might be lying,” said Dr. Martinez, “and that’s something you need to stop doing right now. These kids could be the first break in this thing that we’ve had. Hopefully they can provide us with some solid information, and we can get everything settled. The mere fact that she’s alive is great news all on its own.”

“She
was
still alive. According to three kids in a tree house. We’ll see what they can tell us, but don’t go getting your hopes up. They’re just kids, and what they think they saw could be very different from what they actually saw. In fact, I’d be willing to bet—”

“You can’t afford to think that way. We can’t afford to close our minds to—”

“I’m just telling you. How many dead ends—”

“And I’m telling you, you need to lighten up,” said Dr. Martinez. “Take some time off, go on some dates. Spread your wings and fly, Dick. Trust me, I know.”

“You got any prospects for me?” Van Endel asked with a weary smile. “Any nubile gym rats such as yourself that haven’t shunned men?”

“Detective, even if I did have any, I wouldn’t tell you. I meet somebody like that, she’s all mine.” She smiled. “Better.”

“What?”

“The look on your face. It’s a little better. Seriously, though, Dick, keep an open mind, and stay calm. These kids are probably scared out of their minds already; the last thing they’re going to react well to is a detective they perceive as badgering them. And believe me, their parents won’t like it any better. Keep cool, and if
I start to lead a conversation, let me. You’re a good cop, but I know kids. Let me do my job, you do yours, and maybe this thing will have a happy ending after all.”

Van Endel spared a look at his watch.
What in the hell is taking so long?
He took a deep breath and let it out. He knew exactly what was taking so long: that whole area was getting secured by uniforms. For all they knew, there really was a man with a gun on the loose in the suburbs.

Van Endel and Dr. Martinez snapped their heads around as the door to the room opened. “They’re en route,” said Don, before shutting the door behind him.

22

“Pick up that bag,” said Hooper, pointing at the brown sack from the fuck store. She scurried over to it and Hooper followed, slowly. He locked the front door, and when he turned she’d swung the bag back over her shoulder like she was winding up to hit him with it. “What the fuck?” he said. “Just carry the damn thing down the stairs, now.” She sagged and walked in front of him and began to descend the steps.

Hooper followed her. He was soaking wet from the forest, and felt cold, but sweat was pouring off of him, and he could feel blood running down his leg. Four steps down the stairway, with Amy just ahead of him, Hooper tripped as his leg went dead. He dropped through the air, crashing on top of Amy, and the two of them slid down the rest of the steps together and landed on the basement floor.