CHAPTER
42
KING AND MICHELLE
climbed out of the Lexus and looked around. They’d switched vehicles at King’s houseboat because one of Michelle’s truck headlights was out. King pulled out a flashlight, but its thin beam did little damage against the darkness.
“His truck’s here,” said Michelle as she tapped the side of the battered pickup crammed with tools and construction supplies in the bed.
“Junior!” King cried out. “It’s Sean King. We want to talk to you.”
Michelle cupped her hands around her mouth. “Junior! Junior Deaver!”
They looked at each other.
“Maybe he’s in the house.”
“What, working in the pitch-dark?” said King.
“In the basement maybe and we can’t see the light from here.”
“Okay, so I guess we go in.”
“Do you have another flashlight in your car?”
“No, but maybe Junior has one in his truck.”
They looked and found one on the floorboard. Now twin beams moved through the dark.
They entered the front door and looked around.
“Junior,” called out King again.
They swept the room with their lights. Over in one corner a big tarp was covering what looked to be a pile of drywall. All around were stacked wood and other building materials, tools, buckets, and bags of cement, a real mess.
“Hey, this looks just like your house,” said King.
“Boy, you’re in fine form today. Look, the basement steps are over here.”
Michelle called down the stairs. There was no answer.
“Do you think he’s hurt himself?” she said.
King looked around. “This is beginning to look a little weird,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you…?”
Michelle already had her gun out. They went cautiously down the stairs.
In the far corner of the basement was a stack of cans. They looked behind this. Nothing. The HVAC system was in another corner of the basement. They shone their light on the mass of metal but again saw nothing.
Behind one of the large heating ducts in a space the light had missed, the man in the hood watched as they headed back upstairs. He slowly eased out of his hiding place.
Upstairs King and Michelle looked around more thoroughly. Michelle saw it first.
“Oh, no!” she hissed. She grabbed King’s hand and pulled him toward her.
“Blood,” she whispered in his ear, and then pointed her light at the floor. The crimson spatters were clearly visible. Their lights followed the trail to its source: the tarp.
They crept forward, careful not to step in the spatters. King knelt, lifted up the tarp, and they saw it was Junior. King quickly felt for a pulse and found none.