Seconds Away

CHAPTER 5

For a moment I couldn’t speak. When I found my voice, I said, “My uncle?”

The one named Ball said, “Excuse me?”

“Myron Bolitar. My uncle. Was he the one who was shot?”

Ball looked at McDonald. Then he turned to me and said, “No.”

“Then who?”

“We aren’t at liberty to discuss the case with you, son.”

“I need to ask my uncle.”

“Pardon?”

I started up the stairs. The two officers stepped inside too.

“Myron?” I called out.

No answer.

I entered his bedroom. Myron’s bed was empty. I checked his bedside clock. It was seven A.M. I guessed that Myron had woken up earlier and left without telling me. That wasn’t like him.

I came back down the stairs.

“Are you ready to come with us?” Ball asked.

“Am I a suspect?”

“How old are you, son?”

“Almost sixteen.”

“You really need to come with us.”

I didn’t know what to do, but really, what choice did I have?

“Let me throw on some clothes,” I said.

I hurried down to the basement. My cell phone was blinking. I checked for messages. There were two. The first was from Ema. She had sent it at 4:17 A.M. Did that girl ever sleep? Ema: we need to find the paramedic who wheeled away your dad. I have an idea.

Man, I wanted to know what it was, but it would have to wait.

The second text was from Myron: Had to leave early and didn’t want to wake you. Have a good day.

Terrific. I tried to call Myron’s cell, but it went straight into voice mail. When the beep sounded, I said, “The cops are here. They want to take me…” I stopped. Where did they want to take me anyway? “To the station, I guess. They won’t tell me what’s going on. Call me when you get this, okay?”

I hung up.

Ball yelled down the stairs, “Son, we really need to hurry.”

I threw on some clothes and headed back up. Two minutes later, I sat in the back of a police cruiser as we pulled down the street.

• • •

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

McDonald drove. Ball sat next to him. Neither replied.

“I asked-”

“It would be best if you were just patient.”

I didn’t like this.

“Who was shot?” I asked.

McDonald turned around. He narrowed his eyes. “How did you know someone was shot?”

I didn’t like his tone.

“Uh, you told me,” I said. “When I opened the door.”

“I said this was about a shooting. I didn’t say someone was shot.”

I was going to make a dumb wisecrack-something about how I must be clairvoyant-but fear was starting to take over. I stayed quiet. Up ahead I could see the Kasselton police station. I remembered my last visit there, two nights ago, and now I also recalled that Police Chief Taylor hated Myron and thus by extension me.

But the squad car drove straight past the station.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I think you’ve asked enough questions. Just hang on.”