After dropping Connor off at the hospital, David drove to Shawn’s Trailer Court, a ragtag collection of faded single-wide trailers wedged tightly onto tiny lots. He inched his SUV through the muddy ruts of the road circling the park. Overturned children’s tricycles, rusted cars on blocks, and old dogs on chains dotted the landscape. A heavy woman in a ragged pink robe stood on a set of wooden steps, puffing away on her morning cigarette.
When David had notified Heather and Connor of Jaxon’s return, neither of them pointed out the disconnect between the boy being alive and David’s theory of Harold’s involvement in the crime. Harold, however, would go straight there, at least if he really hadn’t had anything to do with it.
Then again, Jaxon’s reappearance didn’t prove Harold wasn’t involved, David reminded himself. It only proved that the theory of the eventual discovery of a hidden body wasn’t going to come true.
As he shifted his SUV into park, the trailer door in front of him ripped open. Dressed in work boots, blue jeans, and a sweatshirt, Harold Lathan leaned against the frame, crossed his arms, and did his best go-to-hell look. “What are you doing here?”
David stepped out into the sunshine and faced the man. “I have some news for you. Can I come in for a minute?”
Without budging from the doorway, Harold growled, “Whatever you think I did, I was at work all night. Fifty people can tell you that. So go to hell and let me sleep.”
“I’m not here to accuse you of anything.”
“Well, that would be a new approach for you, Sheriff.”
David looked around at the neighboring trailers—he could almost touch the closest ones. The woman in the pink robe watched as she lit another cigarette, clearly having decided to stay outside in the cold for the show. He didn’t want to have the conversation in front of her, knowing full well it would feed the small-town rumor mill, but he didn’t have much choice. He turned back to the figure in the doorway. “We found Jaxon last night.”
Harold sucked in his breath. A startled look covered his face. He uncrossed his arms, and his features softened. “Have you told Heather yet?”
“Yes, caught her coming off her shift. And I went to the house and told Connor. Took him to the hospital to be with her.”
Harold blinked, absorbing the words. “Hospital? She took the news that hard? They sedate her or something?”
David studied the man. He had been so convinced Harold had caused his youngest boy’s disappearance, even if by accident. On the way over, he kept thinking he must have been involved—maybe even sold the boy for drug debts or something like that. But the confusion on the man’s face said he was as startled by the boy’s reappearance as the rest of them. “She’s with Jaxon. He’s alive. If you’ll let me in, I’ll tell you what I know.”
Harold stood still in the doorway with a blank look on his face before waving the sheriff inside. He drifted back into the shadows of the trailer as the woman in pink snuffed out her cigarette in disappointment. David stepped up onto the concrete blocks that served as a front porch and then inside. The threadbare curtains let the morning light seep in. On the counter in front of a small microwave, steam curled from a bowl of instant oatmeal. A half-empty cup of coffee sat beside it.
Harold pointed to a ratty couch in front of the TV and leaned against the kitchen counter. The sheriff removed his hat, settled onto the couch, and related all that had happened overnight. Once the story was complete, he fell silent and waited.
Harold’s hand shook, the coffee sloshing in the cup. He wasn’t just unnerved by the news, David thought—that was an alkie’s shake. Despite the early hour, the man craved a drink. A beer, whiskey, anything. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, a clicking sound evident in the room. “What’s he saying?”
David cocked his head. That was a weird question, not the first thought he expected to hear from a concerned father who had just learned his missing son had been found. Why would he be worried about what the boy said unless he’d been involved? “Nothing yet. But he will. He’ll tell us exactly what happened that morning.”
“Good. I hope you catch the son of a bitch who took my son.” Harold picked up his coffee cup, hand still trembling, and slurped. “So where’s he been?”
David held onto his suspicions. “He hasn’t said… yet.”
Harold set the mug on the counter and looked out the window. “Can I see him?”
Another thick pause filled the room until the sheriff slowly nodded. “That’s up to Heather, of course.”
“I just want to see my son, Sheriff.”
“We’ll have a deputy on the door all the time even if Heather says you can see him. Until we know what happened and who took him. You understand that?”
David watched Harold clench his hands into fists, his forearms rippling the tattoos under his pushed-up sleeves. The man’s lips moved as though he was counting off his anger. When he spoke, his voice was controlled and clipped. “I know you don’t believe me. Never have. But I didn’t have a damn thing to do with Jaxon’s disappearance. And I want as much as anyone to see that whoever took him gets caught and punished. I’d love to find him myself before you do, so I can deliver the punishment personally. Then I’ll gladly let you arrest me for something I actually did do.”
Harold gripped the counter and leaned forward, his head down and eyes hidden. David listened to him sucking in deep breaths and blowing them out slowly. Once calmed, the man looked back up. “I’m good with a deputy on the door keeping him safe. Just make sure he’s keeping his eyes open for anyone, not just me.”
“We’ll be watching. Closely. Trust me on that one.” The sheriff leaned back on the sofa. When he resumed talking, his voice was lower and calmer. “Come to the hospital. I’ll convince Heather to let you see him as long as somebody else is in the room.”
Harold grunted and looked out the window at the snow melting off the branches. “Fine. I can live with that. All I want is for that boy to be safe.”
The sheriff stood and dusted off his hat. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“With you?” Harold snorted and reached behind him for his own car keys. “No thanks. I prefer fresh air.”