Cruel Justice

6

THE MAN STRODE DOWN the sidewalk, a Polaroid photo clenched in one hand. The fingers of his other hand brushed against the wrought-iron fence surrounding the playground. He felt like a fool, wearing a red fright wig and fake glasses. But it was necessary.

He would need time with his new little sweetheart. He would need to become his trusted friend. And that would take a while. He had to make sure that, in the meantime, the boy wasn’t able to describe him accurately.

He spotted the boy almost immediately, standing by himself between the swing set and the slides. Abie Rutherford. He wasn’t playing with anyone. He was just hanging out—a frown on his face, one hand on his hip—in an adorable pose of preadolescent aloofness.

What a lovely child. His photograph did not do justice to his true beauty. But then, what reproduction could do justice to such an immaculate creature? How he ached to take that child into his arms, to press him against his breast. To take care of him. To smother him with affection.

He continued strolling down the sidewalk, past the playground, then around the corner. It wouldn’t do for him to be spotted, even in disguise. Not so soon. Not before he had a chance to make contact.

He glanced at his watch. Three more hours, and then the private school would let out for the day. The boy’s home was nearby; the kid probably walked. Cross Twenty-first, cut through Woodward Park, and he’d be home. Good.

He crossed the street and looked for a place he could quietly pass the next three hours. As he reached the opposite side, however, he couldn’t resist turning back for one last look at his new golden child.

His heart swooned. “You’re all mine, Abie Rutherford,” he whispered under his breath. “All mine.”