Believe No One (33 page)

A man came out of the house. He was big, bearded, built like a wrestler. His beard was jet black and water glistened in it, like he'd just stepped out of the shower. He wore a short-barrelled revolver at his hip. He squinted towards the unmarked vehicle parked at an angle to his front porch, and his gun hand moved to the butt of his weapon.

Simms was firearm trained and she'd never felt so in need of the comforting weight of a Glock 17 at her hip as she did now.

‘What is Launer waiting for?' Dunlap said. They waited another ten seconds; still no movement from the Sheriff. Dunlap said, ‘The hell with this.' He opened the SUV door and a surge of wet heat swept in.

The bearded man tensed.

‘You sure you want to do this, Greg?' Ellis said. ‘This is not our jurisdiction.'

Dunlap said, ‘He's already freaked out – we sit in our cars eyeballing him for the next ten minutes, he might just use that handgun.'

He stepped down slowly, announcing himself as St Louis Police. The man took a step back, watching both vehicles at the same time.

‘St Louis, Missouri? I'd like to see some ID, Detective.'

‘I'm going to reach in my back pocket for it,' Dunlap said. ‘That okay with you?'

The man nodded, cautious.

Dunlap took his ID wallet out with his left hand, showed him his badge.

At this point, Sheriff Launer slid out of his cruiser, a deputy a step behind him, holding the digicam. Deputy Hicks got out of the back seat a moment later.

‘Mr Tulk?' Launer said.

The bearded man looked at the deputy with the camera. ‘You can turn that off.'

The deputy threw a nervous look at the Sheriff, but Launer kept his eyes on the man.

‘Looking for a “contribution”, Sheriff?' the man said.

‘What?'

‘You should know, I already donated – to the other side.' Tulk smiled for the camera. ‘Want to hear why?'

Launer lifted his chin to the deputy and he turned off the camera.

‘I'm looking for a little boy,' Launer said. ‘Name of Riley Patterson. He might've ended up in Lambert Woods.'

‘That's a ways down the road, Sheriff, other side of the highway. You want directions?'

‘I know where it is. I need to get in there and look.'

‘What's stopping you?'

‘One of my deputies got injured.'

‘That can happen when you trespass on private property.'

Launer looked down at the holstered weapon on the man's hip. ‘You got an open-carry permit, Mr Tulk?'

A movement in one of the front windows, and seconds later a woman appeared on the front stoop.

‘He is licensed to carry, Sheriff,' she said. ‘Open or concealed. As am I.'

She was big and meaty. She wore a cream blouse loose over a denim skirt, and Simms did not doubt that she wore a gun holster in the waistband.

Launer's eyes shifted from one to the other. ‘Like I told your son, I'm looking for a missing boy; he could be on your land up on Lambert Hill, but there are booby traps on that property, and a man has already been hurt. Now, I'm not proposing to
sue
or anything—' a quick flash of white teeth ‘—but those traps
are
illegal.'

‘Well, of course,' Mrs Tulk said, shaking her head at the irresponsibility of others.

‘Like I said, nobody's going to sue,' Launer persisted, remaining polite, neighbourly almost, but he was a little red around the eyes and the smile, when it came, had a whiff of shark behind it. ‘We just need someone to guide us in there.'

‘I wish I could help,' she said, ‘but what if one of my boys got hurt?'

Sheriff Launer flushed. ‘That's how you want to play it?'

‘Play what?' She eyed him placidly.

‘You think I don't know what you're protecting up on that hill?'

‘I don't know what you mean. But there's a lot of people out there on the trailer park, any one of 'em could've set those traps.'

‘You think because all I got is a few deputies, I don't have the manpower to call your bluff. Well, this here's an interstate task force,' Launer said, acknowledging Dunlap's presence for the first time. ‘We got ten officers from St Louis PD just waiting on my word.'

‘Uh, Sheriff,' Dunlap warned.

But Launer wasn't listening. ‘Team Adam, too,' he said. ‘Those guys got serious money, and they will stop at
nothing
to bring a child home. Now, you can cooperate, and we'll walk through those woods, look for the boy, head on out again. Or.' He raised a finger. ‘
Or
– I can come back with drugs dogs and cadaver dogs and heat-detecting equipment. I'll raise enough volunteers to turn over every leaf and stone. I will tear up every shed, bush and glasshouse up there. If you got so much as a
whiff
of weed on the place, I
will
find it.'

Mrs Tulk remained impassive throughout this speech. When he finished, she said, ‘You're looking for pot grows, you should be looking at the Mexicans, 'stead of hassling American citizens.'

‘Are you suggesting it's the
Mexicans
up on your hill?'

‘Truth is, I don't know what's up there. Haven't been on Lambert Hill in two years. How about you, Harlan?'

‘It's been a while,' he said. ‘I did find a cleared patch of timber over to Deadman's Ditch a couple of miles north of there when I was out with the dogs, end of May.'

‘I don't remember getting a call-out on that,' Launer said, his expression carefully neutral.

‘Deadman's Ditch is Tulk land, Sheriff,' Tulk said. ‘We protect what's ours.'

‘You should follow DEA advice, Mr Tulk,' Launer said. ‘See something looks drugs related, you stay the hell away and you call it in.'

‘Would you've come running if he did?' Mrs Tulk said.

The Sheriff smiled. ‘I'm the boss around here, Mrs Tulk – I delegate.'

‘I don't doubt it.' Her mouth twisted like she might spit at his feet.

Launer ignored the woman, keeping his eyes on the son instead. ‘You're lucky you didn't get yourself shot.'

‘Thing about luck,' Mrs Tulk said, ‘it cuts both ways.'

That got his attention.

‘You may be boss out there, Sheriff,' Mrs Tulk said. ‘But you need to understand: the land hereabouts is Tulk land. And me and mine will stand our ground and protect it, like we always did.' They locked gazes, and Simms could almost smell the ozone as their mutual hatred electrified the air.

Launer stamped back to his car, the deputy with the digicam running to keep up. Mrs Tulk had called his bluff – legally, there was nothing more he could do. Dunlap nodded to Mrs Tulk and he and Ellis turned back to their SUV, but Hicks remained where she was, and Simms lingered, curious.

Mrs Tulk watched Launer's car reverse, spurting gravel from its wheels. She waited until he was on his way back down the dirt track before she finally turned her small, hard eyes on the two women.

Hicks introduced herself, but Mrs Tulk kept her gaze on Simms. ‘And who are you?'

‘I'm just here to observe,' Simms said.

‘Like the
U
-nited Nations.' Mrs Tulk looked Simms up and down. ‘I guess you're that British cop they talked about on the news.'

Simms held her gaze. ‘Just a mother, trying to help find a lost little boy.'

‘Ma'am?' Hicks said, her tone respectful.

Mrs Tulk took her time acknowledging Hicks, but the deputy didn't start talking until she was under the older woman's sharp gaze.

‘Riley can maybe identify the man who killed his momma,' she said.

‘Yeah. A lot of those news people are saying you got a serial killer, looks like.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' Hicks said. ‘We think so – and we need to protect Riley.'

‘Hm.' Marsha Tulk folded her arms across her wide bosom. ‘There was another boy – his momma sent him to live with his aunt just before she was murdered.'

‘Trey Gaigan, yes, ma'am.'

‘He disappeared a short while after his momma showed up dead. People on the news think maybe your serial killer come back for him.' She shifted her left arm and scratched her elbow with one yellow nail. ‘Is that how you “protect” people, Deputy?'

‘All respect, ma'am, but Trey wasn't in police custody—'

‘Custody! You would lock a boy up to
protect
him?' Mrs Tulk shook her head. ‘You got it ass-backwards, Deputy.'

She turned her back on them and returned indoors.

Her son stood with his arms hanging loose and a gleam of satisfaction in his eye. ‘You want to search our land, we can't stop you, just take care where you step,' he said.

When Harlan went into the house, his momma was punching a piece of dough the size of a man's head at the kitchen table. There was a time when seeing his momma knock and squeeze and shape a dough ball held a kind of excitement; the beery smell of the dough was almost intoxicating, and the promise of the crisp, clean taste of warm bread was a comfort. But that was when he was very young. Now, he saw his momma stretching and twisting and punching that dough, he was just reminded of her strength and the power of her temper.

‘Tell me they got those grows on Lambert Hill cleared,' she said.

‘They're cleared.' He had been digging and lifting with his brothers all morning. ‘Momma—'

‘Do
not
say what is in your mind to say, Harlan,' she said, raising one floury hand in defence, and as a warning. ‘I don't want to hear it.' She fixed him with her small eyes and the twelve-year-old boy in him quailed, but the man in him got mad. He straightened his back and put some steel in his voice.

‘You think if I
don't
say it then it won't happen?'

She growled and fell to pounding the bread some.

‘What if Launer follows through on those threats, comes back with a whole bunch of law enforcement and detection dogs and who knows what?'

She snorted. ‘You said the place is cleared. Anyway, did you see the way that black cop looked at him? Launer's full of shit.'

‘You bet,' he said, nodding. ‘But he is not alone; this story made the TV news state-wide. It's on the Internet, Momma, which takes it global. They didn't get the killer yet. They didn't find the boy, but they still need a story – so they'll take whatever they can find, and if that's a bunch of rednecks growing pot out in the woods, they'll take that and call it a scoop.'

‘Harlan—'

‘They find the pot grows, they'll come looking for more.'

‘God
damnit,
Harlan!' She slammed the dough on the board and stood panting.

He planted his fists on the table opposite her and for a long moment they eyeballed each other like two bull stags about to go at it. But, gradually, the tension eased and she sprinkled a dusting of flour on the dough, fell into the rhythm of kneading again.

When he thought she was calm enough, Harlan said quietly, ‘Cops are sniffing around 'cos of that boy, and we don't need that. Let one government-funded agency on our land, you might as well send out an open invitation.'

‘All right,' she said, though she looked sick when she said it. ‘Go fetch him.'

He went out to the weighing shed. The door still hung open, and he thought it was a wonder the cops didn't smell the drying buds, standing out on their front yard. There were no glass windows in the shed, but they kept two large wood shutters tilted open from day till nightfall for ventilation, and they allowed enough light for weighing and checking the harvest. He blinked, coming out of the strong afternoon sunshine. The boy was not at the weighing table.

Hiding.
Must've thought the cops might come take a look.

Harlan moved deeper inside. It was a big shed, about thirty feet by twenty-five, and sectioned off with wood screens for different stages in the drying. But Red wasn't behind the first screen, or the second, or the one after that. He checked again, his heart hammering. The boy was gone.

When he went in to break the news, he expected a show of temper, but his momma calmly broke off a piece of dough and dropped it into a loaf tin, a smile playing on her face.

‘That boy is slippery as an eel,' she said, and Lord help him, he felt a prick of jealousy at the pride in her eyes.

‘Aren't you concerned?'

‘Yes, I'm concerned.' she said. ‘That his momma's lover will catch up with him; that he'll get cornered by a coyote or a bear.'

‘The cops find him, he knows a lot.'

She blew air between her lips. ‘He wouldn't tell the cops one word about us,' she said.

Harlan shook his head. ‘Momma, he's a nine-year-old
boy
.'

She sighed, irritated to have been set straight. ‘Well, you'd better get him back before the cops find him, then, hadn't you?'

‘You want me to go
look
for him?'

‘Tyler should stay up at the trailer park, keep an eye on things. You can take Bryce and Waylon. Haley, too, if you think she'd be any use to you.'

‘So where are we supposed to start?' Harlan said, feeling pissed off and put upon.

‘Harlan,' she said. ‘He's smart, but he's still a nine-year-old boy – he'll do what any nine-year-old boy would do. He'll head for home.'

Incident Command Post, Westfield, Williams County, Oklahoma

Nick Fennimore knew that Josh had the link to the video clip because of his phone call, interrupting the Task Force viewing of it. What he hadn't expected was that Josh was already working on the transcript.

‘I read a paper on word use by psychopaths and thought it might be interesting to analyse the dialogue. I mean, how often d'you get the chance to assess a psychopath's word use in a natural setting?'