The Stolen - Jason Pinter [72]
you'll never have to meet. Now, come on, let's get you to
your new new room."
25
I got to work at six o'clock in the morning. I had to get
out of my apartment, where all I could do was think about
who burned down that house. And any moments I was able
to forget about that, my thoughts turned to Amanda.
I'd spent half an hour the previous evening on the phone
with Rent-a-Wreck, trying to explain how their car had
disappeared from the scene of a massive fire. Thankfully
I'd taken out insurance, but I wasn't looking forward to the
paperwork. Still, with that car gone, the company was out,
what, a buck ninety-five?
The cops had ushered us from the fire immediately. Before
leaving, I saw the two cops who'd been questioning us. They
were standing in the driveway, interviewing several people
I presumed to be neighbors. There was fear on the cops'faces.
They saw us as we left, but this time their attitude was gone.
I wondered if this would finally get them to investigate.
Wallace drove us back to New York. He made it very
clear that I was to stay on the Linwood investigation. I felt
a swell of pride at this. Not only because I'd been right all
along, but because now I wanted, needed to know what
had happened to those children. And why someone
seemed willing to kill to keep it quiet.
204
Jason Pinter
I spent the first part of the morning reading various
newspapers from Hobbs County over the past few years.
The archives of the Hobbs County Register were available
online, and it was easy to see that this was a city on the
verge of tremendous change and tremendous gentrification.
At around ten o'clock I stood up to grab a cup of coffee
from the pantry, when I looked over at Jack's desk and
noticed that the old man wasn't there. It was curious, since
most mornings he was in the office before the sun rose,
and I knew today wasn't his day off.
Walking over, I noticed that his computer wasn't on and
the red message light on his phone was blinking. His caller
ID read sixteen missed calls. I checked the log. He hadn't
checked a single message since the previous night. That
wasn't like Jack, who I knew carried his work home with
him, often calling his voice mail to see if a source had
gotten back, or if there was a juicy new scoop from one
of his many contacts around the city.
Since my nerves were already a bit frayed from the
previous few days, I half jogged over to Wallace's office to
see what the deal was. He was reading, looked up expectantly.
"Parker. How you holding up?"
"Been better," I said. "Just doing some background
work on Hobbs County right now. Hey, have you seen
Jack recently?"
Wallace shook his head. "Not since last night. He filed
his story, then left. Haven't seen him since."
"Well, it doesn't look like he came in today, and I just
wanted to make sure everything's all right."
"Isn't Jack off today?"
I shook my head. "Not till Friday."
The Stolen
205
Wallace picked up a pen, twirled it as he thought. "I
don't know what to tell you. I've known Jack for nearly
thirty years, and I've seen him go through some of the
toughest times of his life. Three or four wives, a near
bankruptcy. Missing a day of work at this point in his
career, at this point he's playing with the house's money,
so I won't make a stink."
"Sir, if you don't mind, I just want to be sure you're
right. He hasn't been himself for a few months now. I'm
going to swing by his place, make sure the status quo is,
well, safe and sound." And sober.
Wallace shrugged. "Do what you must. If he's there, tell
him we'll consider it a sick day."
"And if he's not there?"
"He's a grown man. Check the nearest coffee shop or
cigar lounge." Or bar, I longed to add, but didn't.
"I'll be back soon," I said. "Hopefully he's on the couch
watching old Archie Bunker episodes or something."
As I was leaving the office, I heard Wallace say, "Henry?"
I turned around. "Yes?"
"Give me a call if you, well, find anything out of the
ordinary." The look in his eyes admitted that as much as
he wanted to think Jack