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on his hands and knees and looked under the bed and the nightstand.
What the hell is going on? he asked himself. Where did it go? It couldn't just
have disappeared.
Or could it? What was the flash just before the lights went out?
The phone rang. Jason nearly leapt out of his skin. "Motherfucker," he shouted,
then answered it.
"Medlocke."
"Jazz, it's Lurleen."
Oh God, no "honey."
"Not again."
"Yeah. The sonuvabitch has lived up to his word. This time it's a boy."
Chapter 6
« ^ »
It was midnight and Badger was heading home from police headquarters.
Working late on the Benton case had only left him exhausted and frustrated with
the lack of progress.
Badger had grown up in Snellville, located on U.S. 78 about halfway between
Atlanta and Athens, and had graduated from South Gwinnett High School in
1974. He still lived in the town and his first police job had been as a patrol
officer on the Snellville force. He had stayed for seven years, rising to the rank
of lieutenant before the county had hired him as a homicide detective.
Old habits were hard to break, so on his way home from work he usually drove
around a few of Snellville's shopping centers, schools, and other buildings,
checking for anything strange.
After checking several of the fast-food restaurants and shopping centers
especially the Kroger center just down from the high school Badger pulled into
the Snellville Civic Complex, shining his spotlight around the grounds, into the
corners and doorways. Nothing there. He pulled around to the circular driveway
in front of the buildings and stopped his car, turning off the ignition.
It always gave him a twinge of sadness to patrol the Civic Complex. Years ago,
city officials decided to tear down the old fieldstone school building that sat
where his car now was parked. The building dated back almost to the Civil War.
From 1922 to 1957, it was Snellville High School, a fact proclaimed by a small
granite monument sitting near the complex's turnaround driveway. After that it
was Snellville Middle School and Badger went to grades six through eight there.
There were a lot of memories tied up there, and Badger fondly remembered the
creaking hardwood floors, high ceilings, and drafty hallways.
He couldn't understand why they figured a driveway, a parking lot, and a Krystal
was a better use for the land.
He shook his head in puzzlement, then started the car. He headed for the
entrance, planning to get back on U.S. 78 and make a coffee run to the Waffle
House and chat with a few of the regulars before going home. His house always
seemed terribly empty when his kids were gone, and he feared it would seem
especially lonely tonight.
But as his headlights spun across the grounds out front, he noticed a shadow
leaning against the granite Vietnam veterans memorial sitting a few yards away
from the Snellville High School stone. The Vietnam memorial was about seven
feet tall with an ever-burning torch on top. For Those Who Served was carved
into one side of the rectangular stone along with a bas-relief map of Vietnam and
the symbols for all six branches of the American military.
Badger's first thought was that the shadow must be Homer Busby, the town
drunk, probably sleeping off another bout with some MD 20/20 or Red Dagger.
The drunk was harmless, but it sure pissed off Mayor Preston when Homer's
snoring body was found leaning in some doorway or sprawled out on the
sidewalk. More than once Homer had scared the bejesus out of some poor
woman coming into work.
Oh well, Badger thought. I'll pick him up and give him a night in city jail. He'll
be a lot more comfortable there, anyway.
Pulling his bulky frame out of the car, Badger ambled to the memorial, his
flashlight in his right hand. The light played across For Those Who Served.
How appropriate, he reasoned. Ol' Homer was a Vietnam vet, one who never
quite meshed back into society.
As he walked around the monument, Badger shined his flashlight at the body.
"C'mon Homer, up and& "
His knees went watery and he felt the blood draining from his face as if someone
had pulled a plug in his neck. His hand instinctively came up as he choked back
a mouthful of bile. He stumbled back to the squad car, yanked open the door and
grabbed the radio microphone, twisting the frequency knob to the one used by
Snellville.
"Millie, Millie, this is Badger," he stammered. "Millie, you there?"
"Oh, hey, Badger," Millie, Snellville's dispatcher, answered. "Uh, you know
you're supposed to ID yourself by car."
"Goddamn, Millie, it's my car," he shouted. "Uh& oh shit, I don't know& uh,
County 165. Dammit, I don't have time for this. I've got a dead body at the Civic
Complex. A little boy. Send me some help."
Badger sank to the ground, his back leaning against the car's open door. He sat
there for a second, breathing heavily, before he leaned to his right and threw up.
Jason arrived a few minutes later. Buzz Saunders was already at the scene,
checking the body. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]