A Perfect Evil

Chapter 84

Nick stood at the edge of the woods, every nerve ending on alert. It was impossible to see with only a flashlight. Branches swayed in a fresh breeze. Night birds exchanged calls. The black figure was gone. Or hiding.

He remembered a road that snaked through the woods, not far from here. It went all the way to the river. He’d have a better chance with the Jeep. He hurried back toward the church. When he stuffed his gun into the shoulder holster, he realized the other bulge in his jacket was Christine’s cellular phone. Great, he thought, pulling it out. At least he could avoid a flood of media hounds if he didn’t use the Jeep’s CB radio.

Lucy answered on the second ring.

“Lucy, it’s Nick.”

“Nick, where in the world are you? I’ve been so worried.”

“I don’t have time to explain. I’m going to need some men and searchlights. I think I just chased the killer into the woods, behind the old church. He’s probably headed for the river again.”

“Where do you want the guys to meet you?”

“Down by the river. There’s an old gravel road that winds through the woods. It’s just off Old Church Road past the state park, not far from where we found Matthew. You know the one?”

“Isn’t that the one with Make-out Point?”

“Make-out Point?”

“Well, that’s what the kids call it. There’s a clearing overlooking the river. Kids go there to make out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s the one. Lucy, tell Hal. Let him decide who to bring, okay?”

“Okay.”

He slapped the phone shut. What if it was only a vagrant he’d seen, who had used the church to get in out of the cold? He’d look like a fool again. The hell with what he looked like. He didn’t care, if they could just find Timmy.

He stopped at the window, kicked aside the wood and glass, then crouched to shine light into the hole. Sure enough, there was a bed, posters on the wall, a crate with food. Someone had been staying here. The light reflected off a glimpse of chain. Or someone had been imprisoned here. He saw the comic books, the scattered baseball cards and the small child’s coat. Timmy’s coat. The drumming started again, the rhythm an erratic war dance against his rib cage. He couldn’t be sure it was Timmy’s, he made a feeble attempt to convince himself. Yet, he knew this was it. This was where the boys had been kept. Maggie was right. Then he saw the bloody pillow.