No Cry For Help (5 page)

CHAPTER
10

When Crow turned off the main road onto the quiet side street that led to his home, Wallace finally emerged from his self-imposed cocoon.

Crow had glanced over numerous times during the trip, wondering if his friend had fallen asleep. But every time, he saw Wallace’s eyes staring blankly through the windshield, seeing nothing.

Or perhaps, thought Crow, seeing too much.

He hadn’t pushed, even though the heavy silence made him nervous.

The time to talk would come.

Wallace stirred and took in his surroundings. “What are we doing here?”

“The people whose help we need don’t appreciate drop-ins,” said Crow. “It’s best I give them a heads up first.”

“I thought they were family.”

“They are, but that doesn’t make them any friendlier.” Crow wriggled his nose. “Besides, you could do with a shower and a change of clothes.”

When they were within two blocks of the house, Crow eased up on the gas and flicked on his high beams. The street ahead looked the same as it always did — a harsh commingling of pride and neglect with the self-respecting owners holding a narrow lead over those who had given up trying to stand on their own two feet — but still . . .

“Marvin was at your house,” Crow said, thinking aloud. “He knows we’re tight and bringing you in would look good. Maybe earn him a pat on the head.”

Wallace leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “You think he would stake out your place?”

Crow shrugged. “He’s one of them now.” He paused, chewed his cheek. “Although if you wanted to turn yourself in. Explain everything. He would treat you alright.”

Wallace’s eyes flashed with anger as he shook away the suggestion.

“I need to get back down there.” His jaw was clenched so tightly, the words could barely squeeze through. “Find Alicia and the boys. The cops get me now, I could be locked up for days.”

Wallace’s eyes hardened and Crow felt his gaze on a physical level. It burrowed into his skull with the force of a dentist’s diamond-tipped drill.

“I don’t want to get you or Delilah into trouble,” continued Wallace. “If you think you need to turn me in, drop me off now and I’ll be on my way.”

Crow slowed the truck further and turned a small dial beneath the headlight switch all the way to the left. The lights in the dashboard went dark until only a green luminescence remained that showed the vehicle’s decreasing speed.

“It disables the interior light,” explained Crow.

Wallace turned away and reached for the door handle, but as he did so, Crow grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

“This is just a precaution,” he said. “I’ll see you at the house.”

CROW PULLED
into the driveway and wished his garage wasn’t so stuffed. Summer gear for the kids. Winter gear for hunting and snowmobiling. If they weren’t such pack rats, he could just drive inside and close the door.

Instead, he parked in the driveway beside Delilah’s compact, four-passenger Focus and switched off the engine. As soon as he opened his door, a powerful flashlight cut through the darkness to blind him.

“You alone, Crow?”

“Nope,” said Crow. “You’re here.”

The beam moved to illuminate the truck’s interior. When it found the cab empty, the beam travelled the length of the open truck bed before returning to Crow.

“Kind of late for another drive, ain’t it?”

“Kinda early for a visit, too,” answered Crow. “I don’t remember making plans to go fishin’.”

Marvin’s sigh of exasperation traveled across the dormant lawn like a golf ball on the moon.

“Did you see him?”

“Who?”

The vexed sigh again. “You know who.”

Crow scratched his chin. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Marvin. I talked to Wallace.”

“Damn it, Crow.”

Crow held up one hand. “Now hold on a minute and listen.”

Crow moved his hand slightly to block some of the flashlight’s intensity. He could see Marvin standing behind it. He was dressed in regular street clothes, which told Crow that he was alone and unofficial.

“I gave Wallace your offer about turning himself in,” Crow continued. “But he has a slight problem.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s innocent.”

“He tell you that?”

“He did. And I believe him.”

A third sigh. “How did he explain the blood?”

“He doesn’t know how it got there.”

“Then where’s Alicia and the boys?”

“He doesn’t know that either.”

Marvin snorted. “Listen to yourself. How could he not know where his wife and kids are?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s not. Where is he?”

“He’s gone looking for them.”

“Bullshit. Where is he?”

Crow shrugged. “I don’t know. I told him not to tell me.”

Marvin ground his teeth in frustration. “Dammit, Crow. I could have you arrested.”

Crow narrowed his eyes and held out his wrists. “That would look good on your record, Marvin. Locking up family members for leaving the Rez and talking out of turn.”

Marvin bristled. “It’s called aiding and abetting. Wallace is wanted—”

“Fancy words for the same thing,” interrupted Crow. “I haven’t done anything except deliver your message to a friend. Arrest me and you’ll just be trying to prove how white you can be.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, Marvin. Fuck you. If you want to be the goddamn sheriff then do some of the work. Wallace said he didn’t do anything and I believe him. That should mean something to you, too. Has your department even tested the blood to make sure a crime was actually committed there?”

“It’s not just the blood, Crow. You know that.”

“First things first. Find out whose blood it is and then we’ll see about the rest. If the blood belongs to Alicia or the boys, I’ll hunt Wallace down myself and bring him to you.”

“That’s not how this works,” said Marvin. “The evidence points to Wallace and we need to talk to him.”

“Well, you can’t. He’s gone. You do some bloody work and maybe he’ll come back.”

Marvin shook his head. “You watch too much damn TV, Crow. DNA takes a long time to process, plus there’s nothing left to match it to. He got rid of everything, remember? No toothbrushes. No hair brushes. No soiled clothes. Pretty convenient, you have to admit.”

Crow hesitated. In this arena, as with the rodeo bulls, he was clearly outmatched.

“Just test it, Marvin,” he said dismissively. “It might be something.”

Marvin switched off his flashlight.

“You’re an embarrassment, Crow,” he said from somewhere in the dark. “Always have been.”

Hell, thought Crow as he walked up the path to his front door, with his family history it was impossible not to be.

CHAPTER 11

Crow found Wallace standing in wet, grubby socks in the middle of the kitchen at the rear of the house. He had removed his muddy shoes and jacket at the back door before slipping quietly inside. All the lights were off except for the perpetual glow of the microwave’s digital clock and its electric blue hue turned his flesh to a zombified gray.

With his sodden clothes and drowned-rat hair, Wallace further resembled the living dead from a B-Grade horror movie. If Delilah had heard him enter and went to investigate, she would have screamed at the top of her lungs.

How the hell would Crow have explained that to Marvin?

“Why did you tell Marvin we spoke?” asked Wallace.

Crow parried his friend’s suspicious tone with an easy grin. He hadn’t known Wallace was listening to their conversation.

“He’d know I was lying if I hadn’t,” said Crow. “Then he would hang around to try and catch me meeting up with you. This way, he knows I warned you and you’re gone. I’d have to be a fool to meet up again.” Crow grinned wider. “Marvin knows I’m a lot of things, but I ain’t that dumb.”

Wallace attempted to return the smile, but the muscles around his mouth were unable to co-operate. He shifted from foot to foot like an old boxer who’s suffered one too many blows.

“When do we move out?” he asked.

“I’ll make some calls,” said Crow. “You grab a shower, I’ll find some fresh clothes and we’re gone. Sound good?”

Wallace nodded and padded his way out of the kitchen and down the hall. He left wet footprints in his wake, the arches flat, carrying a heavy load.

THE SHOWER
brought new life. Wallace felt its warm spray easing the sore muscles in his back, the deep bruises on his legs and hips, and the cuts, chinks and scrapes that pebbled nearly every inch of his flesh.

The crash had rattled his bones more than he realized, but he knew it could have been much worse. The passenger side of the van was crushed. If Alicia had been with him, or the boys . . . .

He pushed away the blackness, allowing the steam to seep into his mind and shift the muddled clouds that were interfering with his brain, slowing him down, making him unable to think. Despair was a slug that curled inside your head, growing fat upon worry and regret. But Wallace knew he had to keep it at bay. His life, and the lives of his family, was forfeit if he allowed it to feed.

As he shampooed his hair, picking out chunks of dried mud and broken twigs, he heard the bathroom door open and, a short moment later, close again. He rinsed, shut off the water and pulled back the vinyl curtain.

A fluffy towel lay atop a pile of fresh clothes folded neatly on top of the toilet lid.

Wallace dried himself and dressed. Crow’s clothes were a close match. The pant legs were two inches too short, but they fit in the waist and were comfortable. The T-shirt was short-sleeved and loose just the way he liked it, and the fresh socks were warm and perfect.

He returned to the kitchen, but stopped short when, instead of Crow, Delilah stood in a fluffy housecoat and fur-lined sheepskin moccasins, frying a pan of bacon on the stove.

Delilah turned when she heard him and her face radiated everything that Wallace was trying so desperately to keep bottled up deep inside.

She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him so tight he could hardly breathe.

“Crow told me about Alicia and the boys,” she said. “Who would do something like this? Why?”

“I don’t know . . .” Wallace had to fight not to break down then and there. He wanted to drop to his knees, bury his face against her stomach and collapse into a blubbering mess. Instead, he gently pushed her away and wiped at his eyes. “. . . but I aim to find out.”

Delilah stepped back and looked up into Wallace’s face. His pain was etched too deep to be hidden. She studied his eyes for a moment, then gently patted his chest and returned to the stove.

“I’m making you boys breakfast to go,” she said. “You’ll need your strength.”

She turned to take in his clothes and nodded her approval.

“Crow’s feet are smaller than yours,” she said. “Your shoes are in the sink. I washed all the gunk out of them and stuffed them with newspaper, but they won’t have time to dry.” She pointed to a deep drawer beside the fridge. “Take two grocery bags, slip one over each foot before you put on your shoes. That’ll work for now.”

“Thanks.” Wallace made another attempt at a smile. It was weak, but it softened his face just enough. “I appreciate all you’re doing.”

Delilah’s eyes watered and her lower lip twitched as if she wanted to say something more.

“It’s okay,” said Wallace. “I may look it, but I’m not going to break.”

Her voice was quiet. “This may sound odd.” She hesitated. “But do you ever look at Alicia’s Facebook page?”

“Facebook?” Wallace was puzzled. “That thing on the computer?”

Delilah nodded. “It’s a social networking site. It’s how all us moms communicate now. You know? The kids are in school, who’s free for coffee? When? Where? Alicia and I love it. She posted about going to Bellingham. Then about finding a great deal on a new skirt at the mall. She even posted a photo of it.”

Wallace held up a hand to stop her. “How did she post something from the mall?”

“From her cellphone. Most of the new ones can connect directly to the ’Net. You can Tweet about where you are, what you’re doing, everything. Alicia was always doing it.”

Wallace shook his head. “Alicia didn’t take her cellphone. I was nervous about roaming charges.”

“But she must have,” said Delilah. “I saw the photo.”

“Can you show me?”

Delilah led the way out of the kitchen to a small alcove in one corner of the informal dining room that housed a compact all-in-one computer with a seventeen-inch screen. This was Delilah’s only private area in the house and it offered her no privacy at all.

Delilah wiggled the mouse to bring the monitor to life and then launched a web browser. Facebook was her default home page and she quickly logged in.

There were a dozen status updates from friends posted on the main page, but the one that instantly caught Wallace’s eye was Alicia’s.

Posted beside a small photo of her smiling face was her last update. It had been posted at 4:22 p.m. and it read
:
DfGDKqjk CvTrh
G
.

“What does that mean?” asked Wallace.

“I don’t know.”

“Why would she post gibberish?”

Delilah’s voice was strained as she fought back tears. “I don’t know. That’s what I wanted you to see.”

Wallace rubbed his brow in frustration. It made no sense. None.

“Show me the other posts,” he said.

Delilah clicked on Alicia’s photo and the screen switched to her personal profile.

Wallace was startled to see Alicia had over one hundred and fifty friends listed. How could she possibly know that many people? Not that Alicia ever had a shortage of friends. People were naturally drawn to her. She exuded joy. Just being around her made everything and everyone feel better. It was one of the reasons why he looked forward to coming home after a hard day. Just to see her face. Hear her voice. Secure in the knowledge that no matter what, everything was okay.

Without her, he would only ever be half a man.

And yet he hardly recognized any of the names and faces posting updates on her virtual wall. Had he been that out of touch?

If he had a Facebook page it would probably show Crow, maybe one or two other bus drivers and a couple of old friends from back in the day, but there would likely be no more than six people in total.

Underneath Alicia’s garbled message was her previous post. Delilah clicked on the photo’s icon to enlarge it.

The photo showed Alicia standing in front of a full-length mirror. She was holding a pleated skirt in front of herself with one hand, while taking the photo on her phone with the other. She looked happy, carefree and enjoying her shopping adventure.

Wallace studied the photograph carefully. There were no other shoppers in the frame and nothing to indicate the store was specific to the Bellis Fair Mall. It couldn’t be used to prove that Alicia and the boys had been with him in the U.S. when they disappeared.

Wallace looked at the time stamp on the update. It had been made less than twenty minutes before the garbled post.

He tried to think. He hadn’t known Alicia had brought her cellphone with her, which meant she likely kept it tucked out of sight inside her purse. He didn’t know why she thought she had to hide it from him. If taking it had meant that much, he wouldn’t have denied her. It was only money. And not that they had much of it, but compared to Alicia’s happiness, it truly meant nothing.

He thought about her being grabbed by a stranger. The stranger had no face for Wallace still couldn’t comprehend why this was happening or who was behind it. Alicia’s first instinct would be to cry for help, but if someone had the boys, if he threatened to harm their sons, Alicia would go quietly. She would die for those boys.

But she had her phone. She had just posted a message about the skirt. What if she reached into her purse and attempted to send another message? If she couldn’t see the letter keys, the text would be a garbled mess.

Wallace looked at the message again.

It was clear as day.

The message was for him.

Find us
.