Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [77]
Jack tried to change the subject. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“We were just looking at something strange in that clearing.” He turned and pointed. “See? The sand’s messed up in one spot and there’s one set of footprints going in and out.”
Tim stared at the dead zone. “So?”
“So it rained like crazy yesterday. That means those footprints were made after the rain.”
“Yeah,” Tim said, nodding slowly. “That’s exactly what it means.”
He looked around at the ground and picked up a three-foot piece of broken branch.
“You two stay here.”
With that, he stepped through the spleenwort and entered the dead zone. He dragged the tip of the branch through the sandy soil about a foot to the right of the footprint trails, around the area of disturbed sand, and then all the way back on the left side of the prints.
Then, staying outside the line, he went back and squatted by the disturbed area and started poking at it with the stick. Jack saw him stiffen as he lifted the stick. A dirty pink sock dangled from its tip.
He dropped the stick and hurried toward Jack and Weezy.
“Okay, you two,” he said, his voice and expression tight. “Time to take off.”
Jack couldn’t take his eyes off the sock where it lay in the clearing.
“But—?”
Tim grabbed one of Jack’s shoulders and one of Weezy’s. He turned them around and began propelling them away from the clearing.
“No buts, no nothing. This whole area’s about to be taped off. You don’t belong here. Skedaddle home. Now.”
“But Tim—”
“Now, Jack. This is serious. You can’t be here. And don’t think you’ll get special treatment because of Kate. You push me, I’ll arrest you.”
Jack could tell from his tone that he wasn’t kidding, but he had to tell him. He twisted free and faced him.
“That sock—I saw it or one just like it fall out of Toliver’s locker last week.”
Tim stopped. “You’re sure?”
“Very sure. He grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket.”
Tim stood silent a moment, then said, “Thanks. That helps. But you’re still outta here. Get!”
“Okay, I’m getting,” he said, moving slowly, “but can I ask you about the suicide note?”
“Damn it!” Tim said. “Where did you hear about that?”
“Rumors.” He didn’t want to get Mrs. Morton’s husband in trouble. “It said, ‘I hope you’re happy.’ What does—?”
Tim raised his arms. “Where did you hear that?”
Jack ignored the question. “Did it say who he hoped was happy or why he did it?”
The answer was important to Jack. If he’d done it because of the locker tricks or because he’d blown the game to the Greyhounds, then the blame for Toliver hanging himself rested squarely on Jack’s shoulders.
“I’m not telling you anything, Jack. I’m not even saying there was a note. This is an ongoing investigation.”
“Please, Tim?”
He pointed back toward the firebreak trail. “Get!”
As they walked toward their bikes, Weezy said, “Why are you so interested in why he did it?”
“I just am.” How he wished he could unburden himself to her. “He’s the first person I’ve ever known who killed himself. Hopefully the last. I’d like to understand.”
“We may never know. There could be a million reasons.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
Jack just hoped his locker wasn’t one of them.
“And what do you think’s going on in the dead zone? I mean, a sock?”
Jack shook his head. “I wish I knew. There’s something really weird going on here.”
“You think those were … his footprints?”
Weezy couldn’t seem to bring herself to say his name.
“Toliver’s? Yeah, I do. But why he buried that sock there I can’t even begin to imagine.”
Weezy said, “Maybe he was so completely out of his head that we shouldn’t expect him to make sense.”
Jack found himself unable to reply to that, because he was the one who’d helped drive him out of his head.
5
It hit Jack hard later on when he was alone. He kept seeing the shock and terror on Toliver’s face when he saw that dead possum. Jack had reveled in it at the time, but now, knowing what it had led to, it