“An assortment of things. I need you committed to whatever shit I ask for, so yes, it will need to be all day. Nothing else, just me for twelve hours, maybe more.”
“Starting when?”
“Now.”
“Now, now?”
“Yeah.”
“For twelve hours? I guess I can cancel my hot plans. Given your excellent payment history.” I could hear his grin through the receiver and I fought to keep irritation out of my voice.
“Fine. How much?”
“A thousand. I’m giving you a break on this, but if you go too far outside of the legal realm with your requests, there may be surcharges.”
“Everything you do is out of the legal realm.”
He laughs. “Whatever. Clock’s ticking. What do you need?”
“First, turn on a television. Keep it glued to CNN or some other news outlet. If there are any updates on a missing child named Annie Thompson, call me and let me know. Second, you know Ralph Atkins?”
“Of course.”
“Pull him up. I want to know if there are any guns registered to him. Also, see if you can track his cell.”
“What’s his cell number?”
I think for a moment. “Fuck. I didn’t send it to you?”
“No. Do you have it?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to look through my cells and see which one he calls. I would have saved his number on that phone. Give me five minutes; I’ll find somewhere to pull over, and I’ll text it to you.”
“I don’t know what exactly you think my capabilities are, but the best I’ll be able to do, if he is using his phone, is get a general idea of where he is.”
“That’s fine. I just need to know if he is at home or somewhere else.”
“Jess, What’s going on? I’m going to be able to help you out a lot more if I know what you are trying to accomplish.”
I watch the centerline, my vehicle moving closer and closer to oncoming traffic, fighting to keep the big vehicle in line and under control. “I think Ralph Atkins has Annie Thompson. I think he kidnapped her. I’m trying to find him … or them.”
“And do what?”
“Play f**king hopscotch, Mike. Why does it matter? Now you know what I’m trying to do, so just help me.”
“Why don’t you call the police? No offense, but you suck fake dick for a living, you’re not a secret agent.”
“I already called them. I don’t think they’re doing shit with the information, but that’s why I need you to keep an eye on the news.”
“I’ll log into a forum I’m part of, have someone tie me in to the police scanner for that area—see what we can pick up.”
“That would be great. Good thought.”
“It’s what I’m here for babe.”
“I’ll text you Ralph’s cell in a few minutes.”
“Ciao.” There is a click, and then I am alone in the truck again. I toss the cell down on the seat and press the gas harder, until the speedometer reads sixty-eight, eight scary miles per hour above the speed limit. God, I need to grow a pair of balls.
CHAPTER 42
Police typically want twenty-four hours before a child is considered ‘missing,’ an archaic rule that has lead to countless unnecessary deaths. That rule didn’t exist in Bulloch County. In a town with two deputies and one desk clerk, where everyone knows everyone, Annie’s disappearance was instantly and immediately taken seriously.
Carolyn and Henry Thompson sat in the small office that comprised half of the Brooklet police station—her in a metal chair, him in his wheelchair. Across from them sat Deputy John Watkins, a man who had gone to high school with Henry, sat in church next to Carolyn, and held Annie’s hand as she had crossed the Main Street of Brooklet. His face was long, the lines enhanced by years of tobacco use and sun, aged even further by the morning’s events.
Carolyn had called their station at 7:35 a.m., speaking with Maribel, the department’s secretary. Maribel had radioed John, who had been across the street at The Old Post Office Café, having coffee with Hank, the department’s other deputy. Hank was now sweeping the Thompson’s house, along with a few uniforms from the Sheriff’s Department. The radio on John’s desk, set to Channel 8, kept them abreast of their findings—which had been absolutely nothing. There was no sign of forced entry, no sign of foul play, no blood, no strange items, and no tire tracks or witnesses. The window leading to Annie’s room was too small for anyone other than a small child to fit through, and the flimsy desk beneath it showed no signs of being disturbed. She had either vanished in thin air, or gotten out of bed and just walked right out.
“I am certain I locked the front door when we went to bed last night.” Carolyn’s voice was steely, though her face looked like it would crack at any moment.
“Carolyn often worries about the door,” Henry said. “She’ll usually get up and check it. She worries, you know, about us living out there all alone.” With a defenseless husband. The thought hung, unspoken in the air.
“You think Annie could have walked to the Bakers?” John leaned back, looking at the couple over the pen in his mouth.
“Annie could have walked to town if she wanted to. You know that girl—she’s got enough determination to accomplish whatever she puts her mind to.” His raspy voice wobbled slightly, but remained fierce in his pride. “But she is terrified of the dark. She wouldn’t have left the house in the middle of the night to walk down that dark road. And Carolyn checked her shoes; they’re all at the house. So she was barefoot.”