Locked Doors (Andrew Z. Thomas/Luther Kite Series 2)

Vi saw Barry Mullins coming toward them. She wished he would walk faster.

“Judy, I’m sorry, I have to—”

“And Max is so good with the boys. Josh was telling me the other day that he liked “Coach King” so much better than that weirdo who coached last year. I mean—”

“Hello, ladies,” Sgt. Mullins rumbled. It was the first time Vi had felt relieved to see her boss. “Sorry to bust up your conversation, but Judy I need to speak with Violet privately.”

“Uh-oh. Gotta have a powwow about the big case?”

Sgt. Mullins only smiled and Vi smiled and Judy’s smile mutated into chagrin.

She slunk back toward the scoring station.

“Walk with me, Viking.”

The sergeant and his investigator strolled through the grass beyond the start line. The leaders in the girls’ championship were coming down off the first mile of the course and Vi listened as someone called out the mile-split for each runner.

In a fatherly fashion, Sgt. Mullins took hold of her arm above the elbow.

“I just talked to Bradley,” Sgt. Mullins said. “We got an AFIS hit off that partial.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Came back with a Luther Kite. White male. Thirty-two years old. Last known address is his parents’ house, Thirteen Kill Devil Road, Ocracoke, North Carolina. Ever been to Ocracoke?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, we’re going tomorrow.”

“We?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll go beat out a search warrant. I mean we’ve got probable cause just with the partial. Then we show Jenna and John David Lancing the AFIS photograph, maybe get an ID. That right there’s the foundation of our case.”

“Ease down, Viking. We just want to talk to the parents. For all we know, they haven’t seen their son in years. Last thing we need to do is bust in there with a SWAT team and tear the place apart. You could forget any help from them after that.”

They walked again. Vi smiled at the flushed face of each high school girl who ran by.

“Great job,” she said to a Mooresville runner named Holly.

“So how you holding up, Vi?” Sgt. Mullins asked. It took her aback. She’d never discerned anything approaching concern from her sergeant. For the two and a half years she’d worked in CID he’d maintained a hard unreadable veneer. This shred of kindness moved her and she stopped and looked up at him.

“I’m all right, sir. Thank you for asking.” Sgt. Mullins stared down at her, stroking his thick dark mustache. She saw the doubt resurfacing in his eyes.

“You want to take it away from me, don’t you?” she said. “You don’t think I can—”

“Viking, I wouldn’t take you off this case if you begged me. Now don’t make me regret letting a woman handle this.”

Sgt. Mullins walked away and Vi stood watching the race.

Across the creek, Max led the team in jumping jacks.

A runner limped by, stricken with cramps, red-faced and crying.

Vi wished Sgt. Mullins had taken her off the case and she burned with self-hate and shame.

28

IN a manila folder entitled “THE MINUTES” I came at last to the following string of journal entries.

It was 1:30 a.m. and my eyes burned with strain.

With the moon directly overhead I lay back against the cold windshield and read Orson’s scrawl in the minor light.

Woodside, Vermont: November 1, 1992

Sat in my booth at the pub all afternoon, read the most atrocious collection of papers I’ve ever had the misfortune to grade (coffee better today). Highlight was the piece on gladiators. Curious amount of detail on the lunch interlude executions. Well researched. Author thoroughly interested in his subject matter. Hmm. Awarded him a C+, because, let’s face it, it was still a real piece of shit.

Woodside, Vermont: November 6, 1992

Called on our execution expert in class today. Never do that again. He turned red, wouldn’t answer me, look at me. Stopped him on the way out of class and apologized for embarrassing him. What a peculiar kid. Asked him if he liked beer. He said no. Coffee? No. Finally, just asked what the f**k he did like, and he smiled sheepishly, said pancakes. We’re having pancakes tomorrow.

Woodside, Vermont: November 7, 1992

Met this Luther kid at the Champlain Diner. Had breakfast for dinner. Think he was suspicious of why I wanted to see him outside of class. For the first twenty minutes I bored him to tears with a slew of questions, like where he was from, where he lived in Woodside, if he liked school…he was having a terrible time, so I mentioned how much I’d enjoyed reading his term paper. That brightened him up, started asking all sorts of things about the gladiator fights, Caligula. Told him about my thesis, shared some of my theories. He was very impressed. We were waiting for the waitress to bring the check when this woman passed by our table. Real pretty thing. Watched Luther watch her, and I saw it. Hard to put into words. Let’s just say I sensed something in him, in those three seconds his eyes followed the movements of this Woodside knockout. When he looked back at me, I couldn’t help but smile. His black eyes had become…reptilian. I thought Luther was going to say something, but he just blushed.

He’ll do.

Woodside, Vermont: December 9, 1992

Last day of classes. Haven’t spoken to Mr. Kite in a month. On the way out of class, told him I looked forward to seeing him next semester. Said he wasn’t coming back. Flunked out. That shy, ashamed, little boy again. Made sure to get his home address. Maybe I’ll take him to the desert next summer.

Ocracoke Island, North Carolina: June 11, 1993

Been following LK around this island for two days. What fun! Lives with his parents in an old, stone house on the sound. Last night at 10:30, he went for a walk by himself. If he goes again tonight, I’ll take him.

29

IN Swan Quarter Vi boarded the last ferry of the day. Once the vessel had cleared the pilings, she grabbed the loaf of moldy bread Max had suggested she take and stepped out of the Cherokee.

She strolled back to the stern where a flock of chatty gulls tailed the boat. As the wharf and timber pylons diminished in the wake, Vi untwined the twist tie and pinched off a chunk of bread. The moment she extended her arm a fat gull swooped down and grabbed her offering in its beak.

As she fed the birds and watched the coastal plain of North Carolina shrink into a fiber of green, she thanked God for the people she loved. She prayed for Max, for her parents, for strength, and lastly for her sergeant’s recovery.