like gravel, “might help explain these.”
David looked down at the top clipping and read the headline: CHILDREN MISSING. The clipping below was headlined: WHOLE TOWN TURNS OUT FOR SEARCH. The newspaper had run a series of articles about these missing kids for two weeks, finally concluding that they had drowned in the Bog. After that article, another headline proclaimed: BOG CLAIMS THIRD VICTIM, and close to three weeks worth of clippings were filled with details of the second unsuccessful search for someone missing in the Bog.
“Christ,” David muttered, shaking his head as he continued to skim the articles.
“Do you notice anything, though, that could tie these in with what happened last night?” Shaw asked. David was reassured. Shaw seemed to be taking him into his confidence; the police chief wouldn’t do that if he really did suspect him, David figured.
“Uhh, well, they all have something to do with the Bog.”
Shaw smiled and shook his head. “You’re probably one helluva good banker down there in New York, but I can tell you don’t have a head for police work. Look at the dates.”
David glanced at the first article about the missing boy and girl. It was dated Saturday, May 22. The first article about the second boy who disappeared ran on Thursday, June 3.
“Now, as a cop, the first thing I notice is that the dates are almost exactly the same as . . . as yesterday’s. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned not to ignore in police work, it’s coincidence.”
“You mean you think these are all related?” David asked incredulously.
Shaw shrugged. “Dunno’. All I’m saying is that an unexplained disappearance is just about as bad as a murder.” Shaw went back and sat behind his desk. “You never heard anything about all this?”
David shook his head. “Never heard a thing.”
“Jeeze, I thought for sure you would have. It got quite a bit of national coverage, but I guess it kinda’ got lost in all the Bicentennial news. It was pretty hectic here for a while, though.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You see,” Shaw said leaning forward, “unlike a murder investigation, like we got now, a disappearance is everybody’s business. Even with the state police help, we have to draw on local assistance. And you wouldn’t believe the number of crank phone calls we get from people who’ve seen the missing kid in Miami or Dallas, or people who say they’ve seen him hiding in the woods or floating face-down in a river or something. Last summer here was more like a carnival than anything else.”
“Sort of like a big fire, huh? Or a car accident? Everybody wants to be there out of morbid curiosity or something.”
“Yeah, some of them I guess have a ‘there but for the grace of God,’ attitude, but a lot of them really want to help.”
David nodded.
But you see, there’s more of a connection. Check out the ages. One boy, George Nelson, was twelve years old. The other boy, Kenny Lawrence, was thirteen. Susie Jackson was thirteen, too. Billy Wilson, last night, was twelve years old. Again,” Shaw shrugged his shoulders, “it might be coincidental, and it might not.”
“Of course,” David said, “that age for boys is just about perfect for playing by the Bog. Was Susie a tomboy? I know when I was growing up, my friends and I spent a lot of time out there and in the surrounding woods. We knew that area just as well as we knew the roads around town.”
Shaw frowned. “Whoever was playing with Billy Wilson last night got a bit rough.”
David’s stomach squirmed as he remembered the dead boy staring up at him; glistening eyes in a pale, pasty face.
“Anyway, I shouldn’t be talking your ear off like this. I know you got quite a bit of business to take care of.”
David raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
Shaw smiled. David noticed that some of the tension that had been there while he was talking about last night’s events finally melted away. “I’ve been talking to Sid. He told
David looked down at the top clipping and read the headline: CHILDREN MISSING. The clipping below was headlined: WHOLE TOWN TURNS OUT FOR SEARCH. The newspaper had run a series of articles about these missing kids for two weeks, finally concluding that they had drowned in the Bog. After that article, another headline proclaimed: BOG CLAIMS THIRD VICTIM, and close to three weeks worth of clippings were filled with details of the second unsuccessful search for someone missing in the Bog.
“Christ,” David muttered, shaking his head as he continued to skim the articles.
“Do you notice anything, though, that could tie these in with what happened last night?” Shaw asked. David was reassured. Shaw seemed to be taking him into his confidence; the police chief wouldn’t do that if he really did suspect him, David figured.
“Uhh, well, they all have something to do with the Bog.”
Shaw smiled and shook his head. “You’re probably one helluva good banker down there in New York, but I can tell you don’t have a head for police work. Look at the dates.”
David glanced at the first article about the missing boy and girl. It was dated Saturday, May 22. The first article about the second boy who disappeared ran on Thursday, June 3.
“Now, as a cop, the first thing I notice is that the dates are almost exactly the same as . . . as yesterday’s. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned not to ignore in police work, it’s coincidence.”
“You mean you think these are all related?” David asked incredulously.
Shaw shrugged. “Dunno’. All I’m saying is that an unexplained disappearance is just about as bad as a murder.” Shaw went back and sat behind his desk. “You never heard anything about all this?”
David shook his head. “Never heard a thing.”
“Jeeze, I thought for sure you would have. It got quite a bit of national coverage, but I guess it kinda’ got lost in all the Bicentennial news. It was pretty hectic here for a while, though.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You see,” Shaw said leaning forward, “unlike a murder investigation, like we got now, a disappearance is everybody’s business. Even with the state police help, we have to draw on local assistance. And you wouldn’t believe the number of crank phone calls we get from people who’ve seen the missing kid in Miami or Dallas, or people who say they’ve seen him hiding in the woods or floating face-down in a river or something. Last summer here was more like a carnival than anything else.”
“Sort of like a big fire, huh? Or a car accident? Everybody wants to be there out of morbid curiosity or something.”
“Yeah, some of them I guess have a ‘there but for the grace of God,’ attitude, but a lot of them really want to help.”
David nodded.
But you see, there’s more of a connection. Check out the ages. One boy, George Nelson, was twelve years old. The other boy, Kenny Lawrence, was thirteen. Susie Jackson was thirteen, too. Billy Wilson, last night, was twelve years old. Again,” Shaw shrugged his shoulders, “it might be coincidental, and it might not.”
“Of course,” David said, “that age for boys is just about perfect for playing by the Bog. Was Susie a tomboy? I know when I was growing up, my friends and I spent a lot of time out there and in the surrounding woods. We knew that area just as well as we knew the roads around town.”
Shaw frowned. “Whoever was playing with Billy Wilson last night got a bit rough.”
David’s stomach squirmed as he remembered the dead boy staring up at him; glistening eyes in a pale, pasty face.
“Anyway, I shouldn’t be talking your ear off like this. I know you got quite a bit of business to take care of.”
David raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
Shaw smiled. David noticed that some of the tension that had been there while he was talking about last night’s events finally melted away. “I’ve been talking to Sid. He told
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