shaky.”
Jed nodded, then went to wait in the police cruiser while the cop spoke to Jeff and Randy. Rogers slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
Jed, preoccupied with what had just happened, didn’t look back as they drove out of the canyon, Jeff following close behind.
He knew he was in trouble again, but not for something he’d actually done.
He was in trouble simply because of what he was.
Reenie Fredericks stared at the three policemen blankly. “That’s not possible,” she said. “Heather’s in bed, sleeping.” But the look on Billy Clark’s face made her turn and race from the doorway to Heather’s room, where she gazed in stunned silence at the empty bed.
Heather’s clothes were still scattered on the floor in the haphazard manner that sometimes threatened to drive Reenie crazy. Now she simply stared at them indismay. If Heather had decided to sneak out, surely she would have dressed …
She started back toward the front door, then felt a draft. Turning, half expecting to see Heather coming in the back door, she saw instead the kitchen door was standing open, a gaping hole leading into the blackness of the night and the empty desert beyond the fence. As she gazed vacantly at the door, the truth of what Billy Clark had just told her struck home. A wail of anguish rose from her throat.
“But she wouldn’t have just gone out like that,” Reenie said twenty minutes later when Billy Clark had explained to her that when she was found, Heather was wearing nothing but a pair of pajamas. “If she’d gone on her own, she would have dressed!”
And yet, searching the house, the policemen found no signs of a struggle, and even her mother admitted that she couldn’t imagine sleeping undisturbed in the next room if Heather had been fighting off an abductor.
It was nearly one-thirty in the morning when one of the policemen brought a dog in and the tracking began. The scent was fresh, and the dog had no trouble picking it up. Sniffing eagerly, it moved steadily through the desert. After fifteen minutes the flashlights the men carried began to pick up spots of blood, still clear on the hard-packed earth of the desert floor.
At last they came to the top of the canyon, where the trail came to an abrupt end at the very edge of the precipice.
“Jesus,” Billy Clark said softly, staring down into the dark chasm. “What the hell happened up here?”
He and his men studied the terrain carefully, searching for any sign of struggle, any sign at all that Heather had not been alone. But there was none.
Only a set of bloody footprints, a dark outline on the windswept sandstone of the precipice. Heather seemed to have been walking normally; there was no sign that she was dragging her feet as if someone were forcing her toward the edge, nor was there any hint that she might have been running and seen where she was going too late to stop herself.
At the very edge of the cliff there were two prints, side by side, as if she’d stood there, staring into the abyss.
Stood there for a few seconds, then jumped.
“Jesus,” Clark said once again, shaking his head slowly. “What the hell would make a kid do something like that? Doesn’t make sense.”
One of the other men shrugged. “Who knows?” he asked. “Maybe she was drugged up. Kids these days do all kinds of crazy things.”
They stood silently at the edge for a few moments, looking down, then finally turned away and started back toward the town. They moved slowly, unconsciously putting off the moment that they would have to tell Reenie Fredericks that her daughter, an ordinary kid with no seemingly extraordinary problems, had committed suicide.
Frank Arnold said nothing as he drove his son home from the police station for the second time in the space of a week. He sat stolidly behind the wheel of the truck, his jaw set, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the road ahead. But the tension in the heavy frame of his body was an almost palpable force
Jed nodded, then went to wait in the police cruiser while the cop spoke to Jeff and Randy. Rogers slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
Jed, preoccupied with what had just happened, didn’t look back as they drove out of the canyon, Jeff following close behind.
He knew he was in trouble again, but not for something he’d actually done.
He was in trouble simply because of what he was.
Reenie Fredericks stared at the three policemen blankly. “That’s not possible,” she said. “Heather’s in bed, sleeping.” But the look on Billy Clark’s face made her turn and race from the doorway to Heather’s room, where she gazed in stunned silence at the empty bed.
Heather’s clothes were still scattered on the floor in the haphazard manner that sometimes threatened to drive Reenie crazy. Now she simply stared at them indismay. If Heather had decided to sneak out, surely she would have dressed …
She started back toward the front door, then felt a draft. Turning, half expecting to see Heather coming in the back door, she saw instead the kitchen door was standing open, a gaping hole leading into the blackness of the night and the empty desert beyond the fence. As she gazed vacantly at the door, the truth of what Billy Clark had just told her struck home. A wail of anguish rose from her throat.
“But she wouldn’t have just gone out like that,” Reenie said twenty minutes later when Billy Clark had explained to her that when she was found, Heather was wearing nothing but a pair of pajamas. “If she’d gone on her own, she would have dressed!”
And yet, searching the house, the policemen found no signs of a struggle, and even her mother admitted that she couldn’t imagine sleeping undisturbed in the next room if Heather had been fighting off an abductor.
It was nearly one-thirty in the morning when one of the policemen brought a dog in and the tracking began. The scent was fresh, and the dog had no trouble picking it up. Sniffing eagerly, it moved steadily through the desert. After fifteen minutes the flashlights the men carried began to pick up spots of blood, still clear on the hard-packed earth of the desert floor.
At last they came to the top of the canyon, where the trail came to an abrupt end at the very edge of the precipice.
“Jesus,” Billy Clark said softly, staring down into the dark chasm. “What the hell happened up here?”
He and his men studied the terrain carefully, searching for any sign of struggle, any sign at all that Heather had not been alone. But there was none.
Only a set of bloody footprints, a dark outline on the windswept sandstone of the precipice. Heather seemed to have been walking normally; there was no sign that she was dragging her feet as if someone were forcing her toward the edge, nor was there any hint that she might have been running and seen where she was going too late to stop herself.
At the very edge of the cliff there were two prints, side by side, as if she’d stood there, staring into the abyss.
Stood there for a few seconds, then jumped.
“Jesus,” Clark said once again, shaking his head slowly. “What the hell would make a kid do something like that? Doesn’t make sense.”
One of the other men shrugged. “Who knows?” he asked. “Maybe she was drugged up. Kids these days do all kinds of crazy things.”
They stood silently at the edge for a few moments, looking down, then finally turned away and started back toward the town. They moved slowly, unconsciously putting off the moment that they would have to tell Reenie Fredericks that her daughter, an ordinary kid with no seemingly extraordinary problems, had committed suicide.
Frank Arnold said nothing as he drove his son home from the police station for the second time in the space of a week. He sat stolidly behind the wheel of the truck, his jaw set, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the road ahead. But the tension in the heavy frame of his body was an almost palpable force
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