Torn Apart (23 page)

“When!” Bobby cried.

Immediately, Newt stopped pouring. “Need some sugar?”

Bobby nodded.

Newt shoved the sugar bowl toward him and then continued to eat, purposefully ignoring what Bobby was doing in the hopes of allaying his fears.

The meal passed in relative calm. When they were through with their cereal, Newt had a trick up his sleeve. He needed the kid out of the way while the cleanup was in progress. Which meant he had to find a new way to get the needed sleeping pills down him without a fight.

He got up from the table and took a small bowl of scrambled eggs out of the microwave, then got a couple of paper plates and divided them up. Half on his plate. Half on Bobby Earle’s. He knew if the kid watched him dividing the eggs, he would assume they were also safe to eat. Thing was, Newt had stirred a crushed sleeping pill into half the eggs a while ago, before putting them back on the plate with the rest. All he had to do was be careful which half he ate.

He slid the eggs toward Bobby, handed him a fork, then proceeded to salt and pepper his own eggs before pushing the condiments toward the kid. He already knew Bobby would not only want the salt, but the pepper, as well. And he also knew that the pepper would hide whatever bitter aftertaste the pills might have left.

Bobby downed the eggs in a few bites, then sat back, watching to see what came next. To his surprise, Newt pulled a coloring book and a pack of crayons out of a drawer, and slid them across the table.

“When I was a kid, I liked to color,” Newt said, as he moved about the kitchen, dumping paper plates and bowls in the trash, and rinsing off their forks and spoons. “Do you like to color?” he asked.

Bobby didn’t answer, although he was leafing through the pages.

When Newt saw him pause, then reach for the box of crayons, he turned his back and smiled.

This is how it begins.

When he looked back a few minutes later, the kid had his head down, intently coloring the picture of a dinosaur.

“Do you know what kind of critter that is?” Newt asked.

Bobby paused, then shook his head.

“It’s called a brontosaurus,” Newt said. “Some people call them long-necks. Pretty cool, huh?”

Bobby shrugged, but he kept on coloring.

Newt didn’t push it. He was feeling too good about what was happening to cause another scene.

As he cleaned up the kitchen, he kept looking out the window, keeping an eye on the front of his place. He needed to make sure the kid was well out of sight before they started sawing up the downed trees.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Bobby said.

Newt turned around. “Well, go on,” he said. “Don’t forget to flush.”

Bobby got up from the chair, ruefully eyeing the front door as he passed. There would be no more attempts at freedom. He’d learned the hard way that there was no escape from the monster, and he’d been here so long, he was beginning to feel as if the whole world had deserted him.

Thirteen

H
ershel walked into headquarters carrying a to-go cup of coffee and a sack of doughnuts from the Bordelaise bakery. His wife was suffering a migraine attack, so he’d stopped there for breakfast rather than make noise in the kitchen back home. He set the sack beside the coffeepot, then topped off his coffee before pulling a chocolate glazed out of the sack.

“Brought breakfast,” he said, as he took a bite and started to chew.

Vera tossed back a lock of her long blond wig and managed to look interested as she continued her phone conversation.

His deputies, Tullius and Carter, were at their desks with their heads down, going through paperwork, and didn’t look up.

“What’s all that?” he asked.

Tullius paused, then leaned back in his chair. “The lists you asked for, Chief. I have the DMV list of the owners of late-model blue pickups. Carter has the list of registered sex offenders.”

“Keep me posted if you get any matches,” Hershel said, and headed to his office. He had a proposition he needed to run by the Earles before he put it in motion.

The hunt for Bobby Earle was about to move into overdrive.

Penny was taking biscuits out of the oven when her telephone rang.

“J.R., honey, would you get that?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Grateful that the emotional distance between him and Katie was over, he couldn’t help but touch her shoulder reassuringly as he got up from the breakfast table and grabbed the phone.

“Bates residence,” he answered.

“Oh, good, it’s you,” Hershel Porter said. “Just who I needed to talk to.”

The chief’s voice made J.R.’s heart skip nervously. “Do you have any news?”

Katie jumped up from the table and hurried to where J.R. was standing, anxious to hear what was being said. He pulled her close as the chief continued to talk.

“Not news in the sense you’re referring to,” Hershel said. “Just wanted you to know we’re hard at work cross-checking current owners of late-model blue pickup trucks with registered sex offenders.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” J.R. asked.

“Actually, that’s why I called. Remember earlier when I talked about putting out an Amber Alert and said I’d decided against it because everyone still thought Bobby had died in the tornado, and we didn’t want to give the guy a reason to run?”

“Yes?”

“Well, the situation has changed,” Hershel said. “That’s all they wanted to talk about at the bakery this morning, and I got to thinking, since it’s already common knowledge, it’s bound to change the dynamics of whoever has him.”

“What do you need us to do?” J.R. asked.

“I need a photo of Bobby. I know that’s a hell of a thing to ask for considering everything you guys owned just blew away, but do you think you could find—”

“We have pictures,” J.R. said. “When do you want them?”

“Anytime this morning. I’m going to work on the statement now. We don’t have a lot to go on, but the eyewitness account of a blue truck and having your son’s picture is better than nothing.”

“We’ll bring the photo down right after breakfast,” J.R. said.

“Good. See you then,” Hershel said, and hung up.

“What did he say?” Katie asked, as J.R. disconnected.

“They need a picture of Bobby. They’re going to issue an Amber Alert.”

Katie gasped. “But I thought—”

“Hershel said it’s all over town now that Bobby wasn’t a victim of the tornado, and since I showed up, no one can claim parental abduction. He’s afraid that if the kidnapper is a local and still has him, the news could cause him to make a run for it, anyway, so we’re better off if people are looking for him.”

Penny had been listening without interruption, but when she saw Katie starting to panic, she quickly spoke up.

“Biscuits are ready. Sit. Sit! It won’t take you long to eat breakfast, and whatever it is you need to do will sit better with a little food in your stomachs.”

Katie was ready to bolt. “But the chief needs a picture of—”

“Penny’s right,” J.R. said. “And those biscuits do smell good. He’s working on a statement. We’ll eat, drop off the picture and go from there.”

Katie sat, but her stomach was rolling all over again. Even as she was buttering a biscuit and adding some pepper to her eggs, she couldn’t help but think of Bobby. She knew he was afraid. That was a given. But was her baby in pain? Was he hungry? How could she eat this wonderful food without knowing if he was being fed?

“Katie.”

She blinked, then looked up. J.R. was watching her. She felt his concern and, at the same time, his strength. She reached across the table and took his hand.

“I’m fine.”

“I know you are, baby,” he said softly, then smiled.

That his smile made her think of Bobby only added to her pain. He hadn’t said it, but she got the message, anyway.
I need to be strong for Bobby.

“These biscuits look wonderful, Penny. Would you pass the jam?” she asked.

Penny beamed. “Absolutely. It’s peach. I made it myself.”

“That makes it even better,” J.R. said, and took some, too.

But all the time he was eating, he kept thinking of his son. Remembering the last time they’d shared a meal, the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His gut hurt all the way to his backbone, but he couldn’t let it show. Katie was barely hanging on. He had to be strong for the both of them—and for their little boy.

Hershel had the info ready to release to the media and was waiting for the Earles to bring their photo when Vera buzzed his office and sent everything into a tailspin.

“Call for you on line one,” Vera said.

“Thanks,” Hershel said, and then switched extensions. “Chief Porter.”

“Chief, Agent Edwards here. We have info regarding your missing prisoners.”

Hershel stood abruptly. “I’m listening.”

“We discovered a car in a creek several miles outside Bordelaise. It was reported missing by a Tom Dailey right after the tornado. There’s blood on the seats, back and front. We’ve lifted prints and faxed them to Quantico. Just got verification that the driver was our missing agent, Aroyo.”

Hershel was speechless.

“Prints and blood aside, you’re sure it wasn’t dumped in the creek by the tornado?”

“Not unless tornados are in the habit of going backward and forward at the same time.”

“What?”

“According to our information, the storm that spawned your tornado was still moving inland after it hit Bordelaise. And the car went missing after the tornado hit your town. So it couldn’t have been dumped where it is by the storm, because this is in the opposite direction. It got here because someone was driving it, and Nick Aroyo’s prints are on the dash, the steering wheel and the door panel. Also, we found four bloody jail-issue jumpsuits among the storm-damaged clothing from the local department store that was waiting to be picked up by a salvage company. We’re guessing they just crawled in through the broken windows, took fresh clothing off the racks, then dumped their prison clothes in with the damaged goods on the way out of town.”

“Shit,” Hershel muttered.

“It’s not bad news from where we’re standing,” Agent Edwards said. “This means our man is probably still alive.”

“I am glad to know it, but at the same time, this also means I have three very bad guys on the loose in my parish,” Hershel snapped, then immediately shifted mental gears. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go off on you. Thank you for the information. Give me your location. I’ll send my deputies out with a tow truck to bring in the car. You understand we’ll have to collect our own evidence.”

“No problem, Chief. Just wanted to keep you up-to-date. You’ll find the car just off the bridge over Bonaventure Creek. And just so you know, we intend to continue our search until we locate our agent. If your missing prisoners are still with him, we would be happy to assist you in returning them to your custody.”

Hershel sighed. “When we arrested them for possession of meth, there were already arrest warrants out on them from New Orleans. They were here on a holding basis only, awaiting transportation,” he said. “If you find them, don’t bring them back to me.”

“Understood,” Agent Edwards said.

Hershel disconnected, then headed up front. Both deputies were still going through the lists.

“Tullius. Call Marvin’s Towing and tell him to follow you boys out to Bonaventure Creek. Tom Dailey’s car just turned up.”

Lee frowned. “But, Chief…we’re never gonna get through these lists if we keep getting pulled off. I want to find Bobby Earle in the worst way. Why can’t Vera just make the call?”

Hershel sighed. “Because our missing prisoners have just been resurrected. According to the DEA search team, they found four bloody jail-issue jumpsuits in the department store refuse, and when they found Dailey’s car, their inside man’s prints were all over it, along with blood evidence on both front and backseats, which means both seats had been occupied—most likely by those damned missing prisoners—and because we have to make sure the chain of evidence isn’t broken after Marvin pulls the car out of the creek and hauls it in.”

Lee Tullius’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

He gave the printouts a regretful glance, then pushed them aside and reached for the phone.

“Carter, make sure you get blood samples, prints, all that stuff. I know the DEA already gathered their own evidence, but those were our prisoners. They escaped on our watch. We may be small-time, but we can still gather our own evidence.”

“Yes, sir,” Carter said, and pushed his own printouts aside.

A few minutes later, as the deputies were going out the back door, the Earles were coming in the front.

Hershel glanced at the abandoned printouts, sighed in frustration, then turned to greet them, shaking J.R.’s hand and nodding to Katie.

“Morning, folks. Did you bring me that picture?”

“Actually, we have two that might work,” J.R. said. “One is a full-length shot. The other is his latest school picture.”

“Perfect,” Hershel said. “I wasn’t sure you’d have anything, considering what happened to your house.”

“While I was in the hospital, the women from our church went through the debris at the house to salvage pictures and keepsakes,” Katie said.

“That’s good news,” Hershel said. “I’ll take good care of these and get them back to you as soon as possible.”

“When are you releasing the Amber Alert?” J.R. asked.

“This is all I was waiting for. It will go out immediately.”

Katie shuddered. “God…it just has to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hershel said.

“What about those lists? Have you come up with any suspects?” J.R. asked.

Hershel glanced over at the deputies’ desks and frowned. “Not yet. It’s slow going, you understand. We’re not set up like the big cities to cross-check by computer.”

Before J.R. could respond, Tullius’s voice came over the radio.

“We’re on our way, Chief. Tow truck is following.”

J.R. spun toward the windows as a patrol car sped past.

“Was that Lee and Carter?” he asked.