­­­­­­ Chapter 42

Roy pulled into the driveway, turned off the Porsche's engine, but didn't get out of the car right away. It wasn't a physical weariness that made the short distance between the garage and the front door seem so far. Last night had been a quiet one for the station, with only one call that had turned out to be nothing more than a faulty smoke detector at a senior citizens’ home. After making sure that all the residents were okay and that there really was no cause for concern, Roy's crew had been back at the barn before midnight, and had been able to sleep until the wake up tones sounded at 7:00 a.m. Even Roy had managed to get several hours straight, though certainly not as much as the rest of his men. But then, he hadn't been sleeping well since John disappeared, even when he was at home.

At last he slowly opened the car door and climbed out; shutting it behind him, then leaning up against it. The neighborhood was quiet. In a few weeks, with school starting, the streets would be busy at this hour; full of happy, noisy children. But for now everything was still. It seemed almost unnatural, especially since there had been so much going on out here the first few days after they'd come home from their camping trip.

When news of John's disappearance first became public, their calm, quiet neighborhood had been transformed into a haven of news crews, and the crowds they drew. You could barely drive down the street with all the media vans clogging the way. Any time he walked out of his house there was someone sticking a microphone in his face, intruding on his private fears and grief. He'd hated the intrusion and wished they would all go away and leave his family in peace.

Now, however, he almost wished they were back. Not that he wanted a bunch of strangers hanging around his family, but their absence only emphasized the fact that the world had moved on, and the fate of a five year old little boy was no longer newsworthy.

Roy turned his gaze from the street to his house. That's where the emptiness was most profound. The drapes were still drawn across the windows instead of being opened to let in the new day. There was no excited little boy grinning at him from behind the glass, jumping up and down and waiting to launch himself into Roy's arms as soon as he came through the door. He knew when he walked inside he wouldn't hear the sound of cartoons in the living room or catch the smells of coffee or bacon that told him Joanne was busy in the kitchen.

Roy closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them again and pushed himself up straight, knowing his place was inside this lonely shell of what used to be a warm and happy home. He made his way slowly up the walkway and opened the front door.

That something was different was obvious the moment he walked in, but it took him a moment to figure out what it was. As he moved into the living room, he realized he could smell breakfast cooking. His first thought was that his mother had stayed the night.

"Mom." He headed for the kitchen, his stomach rumbling in response to the aroma of brewing coffee and fresh baked biscuits. "Mom, are you here?"

To his surprise, it was Joanne he found pouring orange juice into glasses and setting them at the table. She glanced up when she saw him standing in the doorway.

"Hi, hon," she greeted almost shyly. She set the last glass down and wiped her hands on a towel in what Roy knew was a nervous gesture.

He wasn't sure what had prompted her to make this effort, but he didn't question it. He wanted to encourage any attempt she made to resume a normal life; well, as normal as any of them could have at this time. He moved over and took her into his arms for a long moment, then pulled back and gave her a quick kiss.

"Morning. It smells great. I'm starved."

"Well, sit down then. It's all ready. Jen should be here in a minute."

He took his seat and began eating. Joanne joined him at the table, but only used her fork to toy with her food. Roy had first assumed her demeanor still had to do with John's disappearance, but when he glanced at the table and saw there was only one other place setting, it dawned on him what was making Joanne so anxious. Johnny wasn't here and she didn't know he was aware of it.

Rather than make her suffer any more anxiety, Roy reached out and placed his hand over hers. She looked up and met his eyes and he gave her an understanding smile.

"It's okay, Jo. Mom called me yesterday and told me Johnny went home."

The relief that washed over Joanne's face was so clear that Roy knew she must have been agonizing over this all night, worried he would be mad at her; thinking she'd thrown Johnny out. And she would have been right if he'd come home and gotten the news unexpectedly. But he'd had a chance to think about the situation quite a bit since he'd gotten the phone call from his mother yesterday, and he'd come to the conclusion that he'd put too much pressure on Joanne, not to mention putting Johnny in an uncomfortable position. Joanne's reaction only confirmed what Roy had already figured out and he was more than grateful for his mother's foresight. He squeezed Joanne's hand reassuringly.

"It's probably for the best," he told her, making sure his tone was light and unconcerned. "You know how much Johnny hates being away from the ranch. He would've been whining to go home the whole time he was here." His beamed when his words brought a slight smile to his wife's face. "I'm glad you sent Chris with him, though," he concluded. "Johnny's too stubborn to admit when he needs help."

Roy gave Joanne's hand a final squeeze, then let go and returned to his breakfast. He was heartened to see her actually begin to eat as well. When Jennifer came in to join them, it was almost like they were having a nice, normal breakfast.

The good feeling lasted for all of fifteen minutes. When they finished eating, Roy got up and started helping Joanne clear the table. Jenny offered to start the laundry and went to gather up the wet towels from the bathrooms. As Joanne set about rinsing off the dirty dishes, Roy unloaded the clean ones from the dishwasher. They worked together in silence, but it didn't seem strained, something which gave Roy even more hope that their life still had a chance of getting back on track at some point in the future, even if the worst happened.

The telephone rang and interrupted the moment. Roy moved to pick it up without even waiting for Joanne. She hadn't been answering lately anyway, and besides, her hands were wet.

"Hello, DeSotos."

"Roy? This is Detective Salazar."

Hope flared in Roy's chest, only to die just as quickly at the man's next words.

"I'm calling about Chief Gage's vehicle. Forensics has released it. They don't think there's anything else they can get from it. Someone will need to come pick it up from impound."

It took Roy a moment to find his voice and he had to work to keep the disappointment out of it. "Uh... yeah, okay, Detective. I'll see what I can do at this end."

"There's no rush," the man assured him kindly. "Just when you get the chance. You can have your gear back too."

Camping equipment wasn't exactly what Roy had hoped to be going out to San Bernardino to retrieve, but he did his best to sound positive; not only for the man on the other end of the line who was doing his best to try and find John, but for the sake of Joanne, who was more than likely listening to Roy's conversation and had to know who he was talking to.

"That's fine. I'll see if I can get somebody to ride out with me today." He glanced over at Joanne, but she seemed busy with the dishes. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice a fraction. "Uh... I don't suppose there's anything..."

"Nothing new. I'm sorry."

It had been a stupid question; one with no other answer than what he got. Roy knew that if there had been any word of John the detective would have told him right away. But he had to ask. He couldn't keep himself from asking.

"Yeah, okay. I know." He found it difficult to talk around the sudden lump in his throat. He tried to clear it away and only marginally succeeded. "I might see you later today."

The detective apologized again for the lack of news, then said goodbye. Roy hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment before he turned to see Joanne watching him, her expression wary.

"What did they say?" she finally asked, her voice betraying her fear for the worst.

Roy took a deep breath and tried to put on a casual air. "It was just about the Rover," he said lightly. "They're done with it."

"The Rover?" Joanne's face grew angry. "They called about a stupid truck when our son is still missing?"

Roy knew she was only venting her frustration, but he didn't want her to get wound up after the day had started so well. He reached out and touched her arm in a placating gesture.

"They're just doing their job, Jo," he said soothingly. "They have to wrap up all the loose ends."

"Loose ends? Loose ends! Is that what they think John is? A loose end? Well they sure haven't wrapped that one up, have they?"

She pulled away from him and turned back to the sink, working at the dishes with nervous movements. Roy bit back a sigh. He didn't see any sense in arguing with her about it. It would only upset her more.

"I'm going to call Chet... see if he can drive me out there."

Joanne's hands froze in the middle of rinsing a dish. When she turned to look at him, Roy could see anger and disbelief blazing in her eyes.

"You're going out there today? Now? After all this time, you're going out there for a car?"

"Jo..." Roy began, but she cut him off.

"Fine," she stated coldly, returning to her chore. "Go do what you have to do. Only don't bring that truck here. I don't want it at my house."

Roy watched her in silence. He could understand her not wanting to see the Rover. It would be a constant reminder of what had happened. But it was her other words that stung. Their meaning was clear. He'd failed her. Joanne had expected him to be able to find John and he hadn't even tried. He'd never gone back out to the desert even once to try and look for their son, and yet he was rushing off to go get Johnny's car. Roy's shoulders slumped in defeat. No wonder she was disappointed in him. No wonder she didn't want to be with him. No wonder she slept in John's room now.

Not sure what else to do, Roy fell back on what he'd already decided. He turned back to the phone, pulled out the small address book and looked up Chet's number. As he heard it ringing on the other end, he felt Joanne rush by him. A moment later he heard the door to John's room slam shut. The sound cut him to the core and he rested his forehead against the kitchen wall, the weight of guilty too heavy for him to bear. It was only when he heard Chet's voice on the other end of the line that he was able to move again.

"Chet? Chet, it's Roy. Yeah... yeah, we're hanging in there. Thanks. No... no word yet. Hey, Chet? I need a favor."

­­­­­­ Chapter 43

Stan Beckworth sat tapping a pencil on the tabletop in the small conference room as he watched his young client settle down into the chair across from him. The officer accompanying him took his time unfastening the regulation restraints the youth had worn during his trip from the county detention facility to the police station. During that time, Stan took in the boy's drawn face and wary eyes. The orange jumpsuit didn't fit well; hanging on the lanky frame and giving the kid a waifish appearance that might have given Oliver Twist a run for his money if he'd been a few years younger. As it was, Danny just looked like the frightened teenager he was.

In the fifteen years Stan had been a public defender, he'd seen his share of kids in trouble. Some were just plain no good. He knew the social workers would argue that bad kids weren't born, they were made, but Stan didn't really care to argue the sociology of it. He just knew that by the time they came to him, some of the youths he'd represented were beyond help.

Then there were the others; the kids who just always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; who made poor choices that ended up going horribly wrong; who were still walking that fine line between leading a good, productive life, or following some so-called friend down the path that led to nothing but trouble. These were the kids the legal system could still help if judgments were tempered with mercy and insight.

Stan considered himself a pretty good judge of which kids fell into which category, and he felt strongly that the boy across the table from him was one of the latter. Stan had talked to Danny enough to believe him when he said he'd never seen five-year-old John DeSoto. Of course, as the cops were constantly pointing out, just because Danny hadn't seen the boy didn't mean that he couldn't have been in the car when it was stolen. There were several places where he could have gotten out and wandered off, which could be why the police still hadn't found him. It certainly didn't help Stan's client that the kid was still missing. If he could be found and returned to his family safe and sound, a lot of the heat on the teen in front of him would disappear.

Of course, there were still the other charges, but Stan believed strongly that Danny shouldn't be held accountable for the assault on the paramedic chief. That one needed to get pinned on Shawn Reynolds all the way. But another thing Stan had learned during his years working in the juvenile justice system was that money could talk and it could definitely tip the scales in your favor. Justice wasn't exactly blind when you were a kid from a rich family; something the Reynolds family seemed to be taking for granted.

Stan felt a surge of distaste as he remembered the few encounters he'd had with Shawn's mother. The father had been a silent, sour presence, but Evelyn Reynolds pretentiousness was second only to her officious presumptiveness. Her indignant surprise that "her baby" could possibly be involved in any kind of trouble would have been laughable if it wasn't so sad. And while she thought she was helping her son's situation by her manner, in reality she was only succeeding in killing any sympathetic feelings anyone involved in the case might have had toward Shawn. And of course the boy himself didn't help matters. Not with his smart mouth and smug attitude.

Danny's family had been a different matter entirely. There was no father to sit scowling in the corner, more angry that he was missing his business meeting than the fact that his son was in serious trouble. There was only Shirley Wyatt; forty, going on sixty. Her haggard face spoke of the years she'd struggled to work and raise her children on her own. Her blond hair was clean, if plainly styled. She wore little makeup, and her blue eyes were red rimmed from obvious crying. She sat quietly in the few meetings they'd had in the beginning with both boys' families. Her questions had been mostly concerned with her son's present care and well being, along with frequent expressions of sorrow for "that poor little DeSoto boy."

It hadn't been long before Stan no longer attended any of the briefings with the Reynolds. They had brought in their own attorney from the beginning and it hadn't taken long for the two cases to be handled separately, leaving Stan out of the loop of most of what was going on with Shawn and the D.A.'s office, except where it concerned his case. As a public defender, Stan was left with the client who couldn't afford the big time lawyers, and who needed him desperately.

That didn't bother him. Looking at the boy across from him now only reinforced Stan's confidence that when he'd made the choice to stay with the Public Defender's office, it had been the right decision. Too many people couldn't afford top quality representation, and though there was still the stigma of court appointed attorneys being less than stellar, Stan knew most of the attorneys he worked with were good and dedicated men. Like him, they had passed up the opportunity to go into private practice and earn the big bucks in favor of the more rewarding personal satisfaction of knowing you made the difference in somebody's life.

Stan worked to keep a smile off his face as he realized he was making himself sound like Atticus Finch. But as the officer took the chains and stepped back, leaving Stan to face the frightened teenager, he let the smile come. This kid badly needed some reassurance.

"They treating you okay, Danny?"

"Yeah."

The boy's eyes, blue when they showed from under his blond bangs, told Stan that wasn't completely true, and he thought he had a good idea what the problem was.

"Shawn giving you a hard time?" The guards had reported some of the shit the other boy was trying to feed his friend. Stan wished there was a way the two teens could be housed in different areas, but so far his requests for that had been turned down.

Danny shrugged, predictably hesitant to turn on someone he'd called friend for many years, even though Shawn seemed to have no qualms about doing it. The unfortunate code of teenage loyalty made Stan the enemy simply because he was an adult. He was going to have to take another tact if he wanted the boy to trust him. That was a big part of the reason he'd had Danny brought here to the station to talk to him. He wanted to get the boy as far away from the jail and Shawn as he feasibly could. Maybe if he felt a little less stressed and was out from under the pressure of Shawn's presence, the kid would loosen up a little.

"I'm going to lay it on the line for you, Danny." Stan leaned forward, his hands clasped and resting on the table in an effort to demonstrate his earnestness. "Things look pretty bad here. With the DeSoto boy still missing, the chances of a jury being sympathetic with you are pretty slim."

Danny's thin shoulders slumped. "How many times do I gotta tell ya’... I didn't see that kid."

"I believe you," Stan said evenly. "I sincerely believe you never saw him. But that doesn't help right now. If the police could only find him, then you're only dealing with the grand theft auto."

"What about the assault charges?" the teen asked warily.

"That was Shawn, not you," Stan assured him with more conviction than he really felt. But that was something they could deal with later.

"Yeah, but Shawn says..." Danny paused and chewed on his lower lip a moment.

"What does Shawn say?" Stan asked gently, willing the boy to open up.

After a long moment, during which Danny's long fingers clenched and unclenched around the arms of his chair, he finally began to speak, his voice hesitant.

"Shawn... Shawn says he's... that he's gonna get off cuz..." The blue eyes looked up through the fringe of bangs. "Cuz his lawyer's smarter than you and he'll say that Shawn was under the influence."

Stan allowed a smile to spread over his face, and hoped it would ease some of his client's fears. "He may very well be smarter than me," he chuckled, "but that still doesn't change the law. Drunk drivers don't get off because they were drunk... do they?" He got no response, but he continued determinedly. "Shawn was stoned, but that doesn't excuse his actions. He'll have to pay for what he did to Mr. Gage."

Danny lifted his head and brushed his hair out of his face. "You're not shitting me?"

"No, I'm not." Stan's smile grew a little wider. "In fact, we may be able to use that to help get you off of any accessory charges... seeing as how you were too afraid of Shawn's violent behavior to try to stop him. PCP is potent stuff and the user is very unpredictable."

There was another long quiet moment as Stan let Danny figure that one out. He eventually did and for the first time since he'd been assigned this case, Stan saw a smile play on the boy's face.

"Well, he did act like he was gonna come after me a couple of times," the teen admitted slowly, his mouth turned up into a full fledged grin as he realized the card they were going to play.

Stan smiled back, confident he'd shown the boy he was on his side, then let his face grow serious again.

"It still comes back to the kid, Danny. If he doesn't turn up, it's not going to go good for either of you." He was sorry to see the grin disappear from his client's face, but he knew they had to face this issue. "I want to go back over that day with you... see if you can remember even one little thing that might help the police narrow their search... give them a better shot at finding him."

"But I've already told you... I never saw him." Danny's elbows were propped on the table and he let his head fall into his hands.

"I know, Danny," Stan soothed. "But maybe if we go back over it... maybe there's some little detail you overlooked."

Danny sighed heavily, but nodded his willingness to give it a try.

"Okay... let's start when you turned off onto Nipton Road. Tell me about that."

Danny sighed again, but sat up a little straighter as he began to retell his story.

"Like I told you before... I wanted to get away from the cops. Shawn was being crazy and I was afraid that Chippie would pull us over. Then we'd be screwed. So I just took the first off-ramp I saw."

"You've never been on that road before?"

The blond head shook vehemently. "Hell no. I've only been to Vegas one other time and I was just a kid. I don't hardly remember it. Anyway, we drove along for a little while and then we saw this car on the side of the road."

Stan looked down at his notes, even though he'd heard this story before. "That would be the abandoned vehicle?"

"Yeah. Some piece of junk. I don't even know why Shawn wanted to try for that one. It woulda stuck out like a sore thumb."

"Do you remember the make... model?

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Just some old time clunker. Coulda been white... or yellow... I don't even remember. I was too worried about what Shawn was gonna do."

Stan nodded slowly. "Okay. So then you tried the engine..." he prompted.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't start so we drove on."

"And that's when you saw the man on the side of the road?"

Danny nodded glumly. "Yeah, I guess he owned the car. At least Shawn thought he did. He went nuts on me and grabbed the wheel... tried to run the guy down."

"And you don't remember anything about this man?"

Danny shook his head sadly. "Just that he was an old guy... and he wore a hat."

None of this was new information, and it didn't help in any way. Stan knew that an old man wearing a hat who drove a junker car probably fit every desert hermit from here to the state line. He also knew the police hadn't had any luck so far trying to ferret out anyone fitting the description of the man who'd been scared off the road by the two wild teenagers.

"Okay, Danny, let's move on then. You started driving again..." He let his words trail off so Danny would pick up the story.

"Yeah." Danny sighed, his regret over what happened next sounding clearly. "We drove past Mr. Gage... he was changing his tire. I didn't think much about it. We'd never ripped off a car when anybody was around who could see us. But Shawn... Shawn wanted that car... bad, ya’ know?"

He reached for the glass of water Stan had poured for him before he'd been brought in and picked it up with shaking hands. After he'd taken a few gulps and set it back down, he wiped at his mouth and continued.

"I tried to talk him outta that one... it was too conspicuous. We needed one that would blend into traffic. But Shawn... I think Shawn felt he'd gotten cheated outta the other car, so somehow he was owed this one." Danny shook his head slightly, as if he was still trying to figure out the actions of his friend. "Anyway, we turned around and came back... stopped a ways away so he wouldn't hear us." He straightened up and met Stan's eyes. "You know what happened after that."

Stan nodded and leaned forward again, his face intent. "This is where I need you to really think, Danny. I'm convinced John got out of the car before you guys took it. It doesn't make sense to me that a five year old kid would sit so still that you never heard him... or never make a noise or a movement the whole time you two were driving that car. I think somehow Chief Gage got him out of the car. You need to try hard, Danny... try hard. Is there something... anything you can remember that might give us a clue? Was there any time when Chief Gage was out of your sight? Any time he might have been able to get that kid out of the car?"

Danny grimaced and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I dunno, man... I been trying to think." He was quiet a moment, then shook his head despairingly. "I don't think so, I..." He paused again and his eyes grew intent; his face screwed up in concentration.

Stan waited patiently as the boy searched his memory. He knew the kid had been scared. So much had happened so fast it would be hard to recall small details that had appeared unimportant at the time. Nevertheless, Stan prayed Danny would come up with something. He knew without the DeSoto boy their case was, as Danny put it, "screwed."

­­­­­­ Chapter 44

Roy stood in the parking lot of the San Bernardino Civic Center, watching silently as Chet Kelly's blue Mustang pulled out into the street and soon disappeared from view. He was more grateful to his friend than he could express in words, though he had tried as he'd gotten out of the passenger side and leaned back in the window to tell his old friend and former co-worker goodbye. That brief exchange had probably been longer than any conversation the two men had held during the hour long drive.

Roy felt bad that he hadn't been better company. After all, Chet was doing him the favor, leaving his wife and infant son to make the trip out here. The least Roy could do was to keep the trip from being such a monotonous bore. But his tongue had been held fast; unable to put into words all the jumble of emotions he was feeling. Not for the first time in his life he wished he'd been blessed with Johnny's gift of gab.

Chet hadn't seemed put off by Roy's silence. In fact, he'd gripped the captain's hand firmly as they shook goodbye, a warm smile visible under his thick mustache. He brushed aside Roy's weak attempts to thank him, and the money Roy tried to offer him for gas.

"Not a problem, Roy. I just wish there was something else I could do to help, ya’ know? The rest of the guys feel the same way."

Roy knew by "the guys," Chet meant the other men who'd worked on A-shift with them at 51’s. Even though they'd each gone different ways over the last year or so, that's how each of them thought of the other. Roy supposed no matter how many years went by or how many different crews they worked with, that's how it would remain.

Roy's throat had grown tight, so he'd settled for smiling his gratitude. Chet hadn't said anything else either. He'd merely cleared his throat, then driven away with a casual wave of his hand out the window.

After Chet's car had finally blended into traffic, Roy took a long steadying breath and turned to face the building behind him. There were a lot of people who worked inside - people whose long hours and tireless efforts had still been unable to find John. His heart constricted, as he admitted to himself that his little boy might very well be dead; a realization that added weight to his legs and made them seem too heavy to make it up the steps to the police department.

Somehow he managed to keep going and reached the front desk where he gave the receptionist his name and who he needed to see. She spared him an impersonal smile, then called back to let Detective Salazar know he was here. She listened for a time, and Roy assumed the officer must have said something to clue her in on who exactly he was, for when she hung up her smile was far more genuine.

"Go ahead and go back, Captain DeSoto." She pushed a button, and Roy heard the buzzer that told him the door leading to the offices was unlocked. "Detective Salazar is expecting you."

He wasn't sure he would be able to remember the way to the detective's office, but Salazar met him half way there, his hand outstretched to shake Roy's.

"Captain DeSoto," the stocky Hispanic man greeted as he led Roy inside his office. His face was sympathetic. "I wish your trip here could have been for happier circumstances."

Roy couldn't have agreed more. He nodded once and sat down in the chair beside the desk. Salazar took his own seat and retrieved some papers from a thick file. He sorted through them a moment, then handed them to Roy.

It only took about ten minutes for Roy to sign all the necessary releases. Then the detective accompanied him downstairs to the evidence room where Roy was required to sign an inventory sheet stating that all of the camping equipment and personal gear was accounted for. He put his name to the form with only a cursory glance. He wouldn't have any idea if all of Johnny's things were here or not. Nor did he really care. He just wanted this all over with so he could get out of here. He couldn't keep the image out of his mind that one day he might be doing this again, only this time at a morgue, called upon to identify the body of his son.

He scowled, trying to chase away such dark images, but he wasn't entirely successful. It was only when a uniformed officer showed up with some boxes to stow the smaller items, that he managed to occupy his thoughts with matters at hand.

In the end it took Roy, Detective Salazar and three other men to carry everything. Roy picked up the heavy nylon bag that held the large family sized tent. It was the type that had a divider that could be zippered into place to separate the tent into two rooms, and allow for some privacy. Roy knew his friend had several smaller tents; from a one man pop up for those times Johnny went off on his own, as well as a couple of slightly larger ones that he could use if he had one or more of Roy's kids, or any of his other friends keeping him company. But Johnny had bought this one a few years ago specifically for the times when Jennifer and Joanne might be with them, even though those occasions were rare.

Though Jenny had gone on a lot of camp outs with her Uncle Johnny when she was younger, the frequency had lessened as she'd grown older and became more interested in going to the mall or the beach with her friends than hanging out with her brother and uncle. Joanne's opinion of roughing it was only slightly higher than Roy's, so she rarely went either. Roy remembered wondering why exactly his friend thought the tent would be used enough to be considered the great investment Johnny had babbled on and on about, but he hadn't said anything. Johnny had been so happy with the end of the summer deal he'd gotten on it, that Roy didn't have the heart to let his sense of practicality burst the younger man's exuberant bubble.

As it turned out, they'd used the tent exactly twice. Once, right after Johnny had bought it, all of A-shift had taken their families down to Carlsbad and spent the weekend camping at the beach. Cap had pulled rank and he and his wife had rented an RV, but the rest of the guys had used tents, and Johnny had beamed at the opportunity to show off his new purchase. Roy felt a small smile tug at his mouth at the memory, knowing that was a big reason why his partner had spearheaded the entire trip.

As far as Roy knew, the second time Johnny had used this tent was the trip they'd just taken. The smile that had been struggling for life abruptly lost its battle, replaced with sorrow and remorse and a well of regrets for things that had never happened and things that never would. As he followed the line of policemen down a long corridor leading to the back parking lot, Roy's heart seesawed between wishing he'd understood the silent invitation in Johnny's purchase and been more willing to bend a little to store more of the kinds of memories with his friends and family that the weekend at the beach conjured up, and wishing that he'd never seen this damn tent, never agreed to this damn trip, never stood by smiling while John climbed happily into the Land Rover, waving at them out the window as Roy pulled out ahead of Johnny when they left the restaurant in Las Vegas.

Up ahead someone must have hit a button, for an aluminum door began its noisy ascent. As it rolled open and let in the bright daylight, Roy could see several squad cars parked in this private area. But when he stepped outside the vehicle that held his attention was Johnny's Rover, gleaming white in the mid morning sun. Someone had washed it. The dirt that had accumulated from their two week long camping trip was gone, and the spare tire had been restored to its place on the hood. There was nothing left to show that anything out of the ordinary had happened to it.

Roy frowned, feeling an unexpected surge of anger. What had obviously been a thoughtful gesture on someone's part struck him as wrong. He needed the reminders; everyone needed the reminders that his son was still missing. It wasn't right to wash it all away. Nothing could ever wash it all away.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Danny shuffled along the corridor, flanked by a stern faced policeman on one side and Stan Beckworth on the other. The restraints on the teen's ankles made a normal gait impossible. They also echoed loudly in the long empty hallway. It had been the same thing on his arrival at the police station, but the difference was this time Danny's heart was lighter.

His lawyer wasn't the idiot Shawn had pegged him. He'd struck Danny as just the opposite, and for the first time since this whole mess had started, the teen felt like he had some hope to cling to. Mr. Beckworth seemed to truly care about what happened to him. And when Danny had finally remembered that time when Gage had opened the door to the Rover and neither he nor Shawn had been able to see the paramedic chief clearly for quite a while, the older man had smiled broadly and slapped his hands on the table excitedly.

"That might just be it, Danny," Mr. Beckworth had told him. "That might have been enough."

It had taken the teen a while to figure out that the attorney thought that in those few minutes the DeSoto kid could have gotten out of the car and run away. Danny wasn't sure why that made a difference in his case. The boy was still missing and Shawn had still beaten the shit out of that Gage guy. But Beckworth's enthusiasm was infectious and Danny found his spirits lifting. Maybe things would finally go right for him. Maybe he could finally tell Shawn to go fuck himself.

That image brought a smile to his face, and it stayed with him as Danny walked out the open doorway to where the squad car was waiting to take him back to the detention facility. It wasn't until he heard Stan's softly muttered, "Shit," that Danny realized there were other people out here besides the three of them.

There was a small group of men, some uniformed some not, loading up the back of the white truck Danny recognized at once. He stopped without thinking, staring at the scene until his watchdog grabbed him by the arm and growled at him to keep moving.

It wasn't much of a commotion, but with the clinking of his restraints and the tone of the officer's voice, it was enough to cause the men at the back of the Rover to stop what they were doing and turn to see what was going on. The uniformed men only spared them a brief glance, but the other two stood up straighter, giving Danny a chance to really see them.

With a start he recognized the short Mexican guy as the detective who'd first questioned him. The other man, a white guy, was taller, his hair a dark blond that was losing ground at the top of the guy's head. He stared at Danny blankly for a moment, but then a scowl darkened his face.

"Come on," Mr. Beckworth prodded, his voice anxious, as if he felt it was important they leave in a hurry.

Danny's gaze had shifted to his attorney, trying to figure out why the man was concerned. That brief instant kept him from seeing the man move in his direction. His only warning was someone yelling.

"Captain... stop!"

Before he knew what was happening, Danny was pushed up against the squad car they'd been passing, his back hitting hard enough to push the air from his lungs with a soft "umph." For what seemed like forever he felt someone holding his shoulders in a painful grip, shaking him repeatedly as a great many voices shouted around him, but he could only make out the words of one of them.

"Where's my son? Where's John? What did you do to him?"

And then the hands were gone, and the shaking stopped. Danny leaned forward, letting his trembling hands rest on his knees as he took great gasps of air, concentrating on getting his breathing back on track. He could still hear the voices buzzing around him, but they'd lost some of their volume as the situation diffused.

"Captain DeSoto, you have to calm down. This won't help matters."

"He knows where John is, goddammit... he knows what happened to him."

"You can't assault my client like that. I understand you're upset, but that still doesn't give you the right..."

"Oh, stick it, Stan.... nobody got hurt."

They continued on like that, and Danny finally felt recovered enough to glance up. His bangs were in his face but he was still able to see the man who'd attacked him; the man Danny now knew was the father of the missing boy. The fire captain still looked upset, but he didn't look like he was going to go off again. Danny didn't want to call a lot of attention to himself, but he took the chance and stood up straighter. As he did so, Captain DeSoto glanced in his direction. The teen froze for a moment, but he saw more than anger in the eyes that met his. He saw pain and despair and a myriad of other things that Danny could only guess at. His shoulders slumped at the realization that he was the cause of it.

"You okay, Danny?"

He turned to see his Mr. Beckworth's worried face. The attorney stood next to him, his hand on his shoulder. Danny nodded, not trusting his voice yet. He felt the hand on his shoulder give him a slight squeeze before he turned back to the other men.

"I can understand your frustration, Captain DeSoto," he said in a placating tone. "I'm sure I'd feel the same way if it was..."

"You don't know a damn thing about how I feel," the fire captain spit out. "I just want to know what happened to John, and this punk can tell me."

"But I can't!" Danny cried out, unable to hold in his own anguish.

All eyes turned on him. Most of the policemen were cynically skeptical, but Danny wasn't concerned with what they thought of him. He already knew their opinion. They were convinced he was at best a kidnapper and at worst a murderer. He'd heard too many of their snide comments over the last couple of weeks to hold out much hope that any of them might be on his side. He didn't care about trying to convince them. But for some reason he needed to make Captain DeSoto believe him. He needed to erase the accusation he saw in the man's gaze.

"I never saw your son," Danny continued in a quieter tone, his words meant only for the distraught father standing a few feet from him. "I swear to God, I never saw him."

"Danny, don't say anymore," Mr. Beckworth spoke softly into his ear. "You shouldn't say anything else."

He knew his attorney was only trying to protect him, but at the moment Danny didn't care. He never broke eye contact with the fire captain, willing the man to believe him. The only thing that was important to him was that this man believe him.

"I wish I could tell you where he was."

His voice wasn't much more than a whisper, but Danny knew the man heard him. Something washed across the captain's face. Danny wasn't even sure what it was. Maybe he wasn't old enough or hadn't had enough life experiences to give it a name. He only knew that seeing it there brought tears to his own eyes, and for the first time since he was a child, he longed for his own father. But not the man who'd made Danny's life a living hell and then left his family without a word. He wanted the father who would feel about him the way this man felt for his son.

"I wish you could too," Captain DeSoto finally said, his voice as quiet as Danny's had been. He turned away, at last breaking their tenuous contact, and walked back to the Rover.

Danny's shoulders sagged and he leaned against the squad car, drained. He could see Mr. Beckworth talking to the Mexican detective. He hoped it wasn't to cause a stink for Captain DeSoto. The last thing Danny wanted was for that poor guy to get in trouble for being overcome by his worry and fear for his kid.

He couldn't hear the conversation between his lawyer and the detective, but after a moment, they shook hands and Mr. Beckworth beckoned Danny over. Apparently everything had been soothed over. Danny pushed himself away from the car as his guard motioned him to start walking. They reached the unmarked sedan that had brought him here from the detention center. As he bent down to get into the back seat, Danny cast one more look toward the Rover. The men had resumed their packing, and Captain DeSoto never looked in his direction again.

­­­­­­ Chapter 45

Roy stood next to the Rover and dragged his arm across his forehead. He didn't remember it being so hot before, but he supposed he'd been too preoccupied at the time to notice much of anything. He opened the bottle of water he'd just picked up at Nipton's small general store and took a long pull. This day certainly hadn't turned out like he'd planned.

He was disgusted with himself for losing control like he did at the police station. But packing up the Rover had been harder than Roy had expected, and seeing that kid standing there had been the last straw on an already fragile camel's back. He still felt the anger and frustration that had caused him to go after the teen, determined to force the boy to tell him where John was; ready to beat or drag or choke the words from the boy's mouth.

But something had happened when Salazar and another officer had pulled him away. Something he'd seen in the kid's eyes had made it all too clear that he didn't know where John was. He'd never known where John was. These two kids may have been punks, and one of them at least had nearly cost Johnny his life. Whether or not the courts decided it was due to the influence of drugs or not was out of Roy's hands. But whatever else the boys were, Roy knew for certain that they weren't kidnappers. They hadn't seen John. They couldn't help find him. Nobody could help find him.

It was that moment of understanding, an instant of crystal clarity, that sent Roy north instead of south when he finally found himself behind the wheel of Johnny's Rover. He supposed if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he'd been planning on coming to Nipton all along, and the incident in the parking lot had only set things in motion. But he didn't know if he would have followed his impulses without that extra impetus. Or without the small bit of information Salazar had passed on to him from the kid's lawyer.

Danny says Gage had the door open for quite a while. They couldn't see what he was doing. Beckworth thinks that means your son could have gotten out of the car during that time. That might be so... but even if we focus all our search efforts on the Nipton area, it's been nearly two weeks...

He'd left the rest unspoken, but Roy knew what the man was trying to tell him. It would be nearly impossible for an adult to have survived in the desert for that long. No food, no water, no shelter from the hundred plus degree heat. The chances that a five-year-old boy would still be alive out there were next to none.

And so Roy had to go. He'd stood by long enough and let others do what he should have done from the start. Joanne had been right with her unspoken accusations. He hadn't done anything to help find their son. But if he hung back now and continued to let the police handle everything, he wouldn't be able to ever go home and face Joanne. He'd never be able to live with himself. John was his son. How could he just give up and go home without trying his damnedest to find him and bring him home.

He knew the police would do their best, but they'd already been searching out here with no results. Though they hadn't said it in so many words, Roy knew what they would be looking for now was remains.

He took another drink of his water and fought back the shudder that word caused. He couldn't associate it with John. Not with his happy, rambunctious little boy who could sweep through a room like a whirlwind and yet could ease a weary fireman's heart with a fierce hug around the neck.

Tears welled up in Roy's eyes and he sniffed them back determined not to let them out. Now wasn't the time to give into the despair that lurked at the edge of his soul. He was here for a purpose. He tossed the half empty water bottle into the Rover, then locked the door and headed across the street.

Nipton wasn't much of a town, but it did boast a small collection of businesses that ran along both sides of the street. Roy hadn't had any success when he'd showed John's picture at the General Store. The older couple who owned the place had clucked their tongues sympathetically and shook their heads. The woman fussed a great deal over what an angel John looked like, and how hard this must be for Roy and his family. The man talked on about anything they could do to help. But in the end the only help they could offer was the water he'd just drunk.

He knew the police had already been through town, more than likely questioning every one of the residents here. But Roy wasn't going to let that stop him from asking them again; from showing them John's picture once more. Maybe this time something would click in their memories. Maybe one more time was what it would take for somebody to remember a small boy they hadn't seen before, with somebody he shouldn't have been with, or wandering alone where a child shouldn't be. Roy was going to give the people here that one more chance. Though some might think it was a waste of time, how could he ask the police to keep up the search if he didn't have the faith that the effort was worth it?

The first business he entered was a place called the Nipton Trading Post. A tinny bell rang as Roy entered, causing the few people in the store to glance up from what they were doing to stare at him. A portly man behind the register smiled widely at him and gave him a friendly, "Howdy."

Roy nodded back absently, his eyes wandering over the quaintly decorated Trading Post. The first thing he noticed was that the place was much nicer on the inside than the out. The extreme desert temperatures had weathered the stucco and wood that framed this place, but someone had gone to great lengths to keep the interior of the store nice.

It was neat and organized. One wall was lined with shelves, and there were barrels and display cases filled with all kinds of trinkets and souvenirs reflecting the history of the town, from Native American rugs and blankets, to what looked like homemade jewelry. There were rocks for collectors, some polished, some rough, and one glass case held a dazzling array of sparkling geodes. There were also the more mundane sort of souvenirs - t-shirts and post cards and colorful maps, bumper stickers and the type of decals Roy had seen decorate trailers to mark their owner's travels.

Off to one side of the store was a small counter and a few tables and chairs where a couple of customers sat with what looked like mugs of beer. A chalkboard behind the counter listed the few drinks and sandwiches you could buy here. The walls bore framed photos of ancient looking Indians, weathered miners, dusty railroad men standing beside old time locomotives. There was even an electric train above his head, making a circuit of the entire room, its small steam engine replica blowing its whistle every few moments.

John would love this place, was his first thought, for one flash forgetting the reason he was here. But with his next breath he had to fight back the nagging voice that whispered John would never have an opportunity to be enchanted by this little store and its eclectic treasures.

Dragging his eyes away from the toy train, Roy steeled himself for what he needed to do and approached the man who'd spoken to him. The broad smile was still there, framed on each side by well rounded cheeks.

"Can I help you find anything? What I don't got, I can order."

"No, that's okay. I'm not here to buy anything." Roy gave the man credit that the smile only faded slightly. "But maybe you can help me."

"I'll do my best," the man answered without any commitment in his tone.

Roy pulled out the pictures of John he'd brought with him. One of them was the same T-ball photo he'd given the police. The other was a candid shot from the Fourth of July barbecue they'd had last month, and showed John grinning up from behind a huge slice of watermelon he'd just taken a bite out of. He was shirtless; Joanne's answer to the non-ending battle between a five year old and laundry. Though you really couldn't see it, Roy knew there would be red watermelon juice running down his son's chin and dripping onto his stomach.

Roy lay the photos down on the counter. The man folded his large arms on the edge of the glass and leaned forward to see better.

"This is my son," Roy began, but paused when the man jabbed a stubby finger at the pictures.

"Hey, this is that poor kid who got kidnapped, isn't it?"

"We don't really know that for sure," Roy started to explain, but was again interrupted.

"Sure he is. The police have been buzzing around for days showing his picture and asking all kinds of questions." The man looked up at Roy, his eyes registering what Roy had said. "This your boy?"

Roy nodded slowly. "I'm Roy DeSoto. My son John has been missing for nearly two weeks now." He paused again as he realized he was now the center of attention for everyone who'd been in the store. A couple other people had now edged up to the counter and were leaning over to look at the pictures the large man had replaced on the counter top. He stood silently for a moment and let them look, listening to their murmured comments.

"Who'd hurt a kid like that?"

"Aren't the police looking for him anymore?

"I thought the police said he was kidnapped."

"We don't know for sure," Roy broke in. "It looked like that at first, but now the police think John may have gotten out of the car on your road out there. They don't think the boys who attacked my friend and stole his car ever saw John."

"They think he's been out in the desert all this time?" The big man whistled, a long doubtful sound. "That's a heck of a long time for a little boy to be..." He stopped suddenly and his face grew sheepish, realizing what he was saying. "Sorry, mister, I don't mean to say..."

Roy shook his head to let the man know he understood, though he had to fight back the familiar surge of tears at the thought of John lying dead in the desert. He cleared his throat and managed to find his voice.

"I know it's a long shot," he agreed. "But I can't give up. His mother and I..." He had to stop again. His throat had tightened to where he couldn't depend on his voice. A big, beefy hand came down on his shoulder, and Roy looked up to see the storeowner beside him. Somehow he'd squeezed his bulky frame out from behind the counter without Roy noticing.

"Nobody can fault you for that," the man said in a compassionate tone. "What'd ya’ say your name was? Roy? I'm Bob... Bob Satterson." He held out his other hand for Roy to shake. "Most folks around here call me Big Bob. Can't imagine why." He laughed and his belly shook. "Anyway, we all feel real bad about what happened to your boy. All of us," and he used his arm to indicate the whole town, "all of us feel real bad that something like that happened in our town. If there's anything you need... anything at all, you just let me know. You got a place to stay?"

Roy shook his head. "No. I hadn't planned on staying. My wife's at home... and my other kids."

Bob nodded his understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, the Hotel's just down the road. Dale and Gwen are good folks. They'd put you up no charge. They've still got some of the cops over at their place."

Roy nodded again. "Thanks anyway. But I'll just keep moving here... see if anybody else might have seen John."

Big Bob gave him a doubtful look. "Well, I don't think there's anybody in town the cops haven't already talked to, but go ahead. You never know what might jog somebody's brain. You might try some of the guys like ol' Farley over there." He waved at the man still sitting at the far table. "He lives out in boondocks. He mighta’ seen your boy. Hey, Farley," Bob bellowed, even though the man wasn't more than ten feet away. "Come on over here and talk to Roy."

"I ain't deaf, Bobby, and you can just as easy come over here."

Bob chuckled and leaned a little closer to Roy, his voice lowered to a loud whisper that Farley probably could still hear. "He's got a peg leg and it makes him cantankerous sometimes, but just ignore his grumbling. He's a tad crazy, but he's a good guy underneath it all."

"You're about as subtle as a rock, Bobby," Farley shot back. "Bring those pictures over so I can see 'em."

As Bob laughed again, Roy walked to the table. The man he sat down by was probably in his sixties, but years of desert living had weathered his tanned skin and graying hair to give him a leathery look. He obviously didn't shave every day, and the salt and pepper stubble added to his grizzled prospector aura. As Roy pulled out a chair to sit down, the man shifted and moved what the former paramedic immediately recognized as a prosthetic leg out of the way. Roy laid John's photos on the table and Farley peered down at them.

"Hmmm," he murmured after a time. "I seen that one already on the TV," he informed Roy jabbing a finger at the T-Ball shot. He rubbed at his chin as he studied the other picture. Then he shook his head. "Nope. I ain't seen no boy looking like that. In fact, I ain't seen no stray boys at all... only stray puppies." He chuckled to himself at what must have been a private joke. "And I never did actually see him, only heard 'im."

He finally glanced up at Roy and shook his head, his face serious again. "I'm sure sorry, mister, but I ain't seen any sign of your boy."

Roy knew in his head that this was the response he was going to get. Logic told him that the police would have already talked to everyone. But his heart wasn't ready to quit. He picked up the snapshots and put them back in his wallet.

"Thanks," he said, his voice made gruff with disappointment and heartache. "Sorry for taking up your time."

"No problem," Farley assured him. "I hope you find him."

The smile Roy tried to give the man got lost somewhere so he settled for a small nod of acknowledgment. He left the Trading Post and started down the street, aware that the men from the store had come outside and were staring after him.

It was the same story each place he visited. The police had already been here. No, they hadn't seen any little boys they didn't know. It surely was a shame what happened. If there was anything any of them could do to help… And each time Roy walked out the door, the people he'd talked to would follow him out, and stand in their doorways watching as he headed to the next place of business. A few even took to following in his wake, making him feel a bit like the Pied Piper. He wondered briefly what they did for entertainment when they didn't have distraught fathers wandering through their town, but then he squashed that thought as unworthy. They seemed like genuinely caring people who would have helped if they could have.

By the time he'd gone through his routine of questions for the fourth time word of his quest must have already flown through the small town, for people were standing at their doors waiting for him. He was just heading toward the tiny building that served as post office and apparently the only real estate office in town, when he heard someone call his name.

"Captain DeSoto?"

Roy turned to see a San Bernardino County deputy sheriff coming up behind him. Roy tensed, ready to defend his actions, when the young officer reached out to shake his hand.

"I'm Rick Landers. Detective Salazar called a while back. Said he thought you might be headed our way. He wanted you to know we'll offer any help you need. Our headquarters are across the way at the hotel. They'll put you up if you want a room."

Roy shook his head, as he'd done in the Trading Post. "No. I won't be staying the night." He glanced over toward the hotel, but didn't see any black and whites parked there. Landers must have followed his gaze for he chuckled softly.

"We're mostly in Jeeps out here," he explained. "Too much off-roading for a squad car's suspension."

Roy smiled briefly at the deputy's comment, then sobered at the impact of it. "So you really are still out there searching." It wasn't a question, rather a hope expressed.

The officer nodded, growing serious himself. "We won't give up, Captain. I can promise you that."

Landers words were full of compassion, but Roy could also read the same undertone that he'd felt from Salazar. They had little hope of finding John alive.

"I appreciate that," he said in a voice tight with emotion. "I appreciate everything you guys have done."

There was an awkward moment between them, then Roy gestured towards the post office, where an elderly man stood watching them with interest, waiting for Roy to come talk to him.

"I guess I'll just finish up here."

The officer nodded. "You know, we already showed John's picture to every person in town."

"I know," Roy answered with a self-conscious flush to his cheeks. "But it won't hurt to ask them again."

Landers smiled sympathetically. "Nope. It sure won't. You go right ahead. And holler if you need anything." He brought his hand to the brim of his hat in a salutary gesture, then headed toward the hotel with long strides.

Probably anxious to get out of this damn heat, Roy surmised, and as with nearly everything he thought or said recently, he was immediately reminded of John, and that his little boy had more than likely been out in this heat for all this time.

Cutting that thought off the best he could, Roy once more geared himself up to ask questions he already knew the answer to. He walked the last few feet to the post office, knowing already that this visit wasn't going to accomplish anything except prove that the police had been thorough in their investigation. He would finish what he started. He would visit each and every small business or residence that he could find in this lonely little town. And then he would go home - home to Chris and Jennifer - and home to Joanne.  He wouldn’t have her youngest son for her, but at least he’d be able to tell her that he’d searched for the child that they’d likely never see again, and whose absence they’d mourn for the rest of their lives.

­­­­­­ Chapter 46

Using the crutches, Johnny struggled up the three wooden stairs that led to the big deck off his patio doors.  He sank to a well-cushioned chair, propping his crutches against the railing surrounding the deck.  He swiped a hand across his brow.  It had been stifling again today, but the perspiration was from exertion more than it was from the heat. 

 

Johnny’d just shuffled through his barn.  Chris had done the chores before leaving for work that morning, meaning the animals didn’t want for anything and that there was no need for Johnny to leave the comfort of the air conditioned house, struggle off the deck, and hobble across the sun-burnt yard.  No need except sitting in front of the TV had grown boring, and shutting the TV off meant sitting in silence and thinking of John.  Therefore, finding something to do was the better alternative.  Unfortunately, Johnny’s injured arm and leg were now letting him know why Brackett hadn’t wanted him using crutches yet in the first place, and why he was supposed to be resting, and why moving around unassisted was still supposed to be off-limits as well. 

 

Johnny gazed at the San Gabriel Mountains as Joe lumbered up the steps.  The dog lapped from the bowl of fresh water setting against the house, then plopped down beside Johnny.  The man reached over the side of his chair, running his right hand across the dog’s fur. 

 

“It’s too hot for you too, isn’t it, boy.”

 

The dog looked up, his long tongue hanging out as he took panting breaths.  Johnny glanced at his watch.  It was a few minutes after six.  Chris should be home soon.  He’d said he’d bring a pizza for supper, which was a nice gesture, but didn’t matter one way or another to Johnny.  What little appetite he’d manage to find since leaving the hospital dwindled after yesterday’s trip to Nipton. Nothing had been as Johnny hoped it would.

 

The cops had dramatically scaled back their search efforts.

 

Going to the scene of the carjacking hadn’t opened the floodgates of Johnny’s impaired memory.  He still had no idea where John was, nor did he have any clear recollection of the assault, and what the boys might or might not have done with Roy’s youngest child.

 

Most of all, Johnny hadn’t returned with John.  It had been a pipe dream at best, but nonetheless, one he’d latched onto during the long drive to Nipton.  What he was hoping for even Johnny didn’t know. That he’d look out across the desert and see John?  That they’d find John walking along the road?  That the boy would be sitting in the spot the Land Rover was taken from, waiting for Johnny to return?  Johnny was foolish to think any of those things were possibilities because they weren’t, and he’d known it all along but had still allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he and Chris would somehow do what hundreds of cops and volunteer searchers hadn’t been able to so far – located the missing five year old.

 

Johnny and Chris were both quiet on the ride home.  Although Chris offered little insight into what he was thinking, Johnny suspected the young man had also hoped they’d somehow find John in the vast area surrounding the dusty desert town of Nipton.

 

When they were within thirty minutes of Johnny’s ranch, Johnny instructed Chris to stop at a grocery store.  The paramedic gave the teenager money to buy the essentials they’d need for the next week such as milk, bread, eggs, cereal, juice, sliced ham and turkey for sandwiches, and anything else Chris could think of.  It was late when they got home.  Johnny was glad Bob Emery had the chores done.  The paramedic chief knew he wasn’t up to doing them, and he hated to ask Chris to, considering the long day the teenager had experience that started with the prayer service for John that morning.

 

Monday passed quietly and uneventfully for Johnny.  After Chris left for work, the man alternated between watching television, napping, making a sandwich for lunch that he’d only eaten a few bites of, and using his crutches to travel to the paper box and mailbox at the end of his driveway.  It was after Johnny read the paper and sorted his mail that he ventured outside again. In another hour or so, the sun would lose its strength and the day would finally cool down.  Not that it made much difference to Johnny. By then, he and Chris would be done eating.  Then they’d probably watch some TV before calling it a night.  The next day would be much the same as today had been, with Chris doing chores before heading to work, and Johnny having nothing to do but watch TV, nap, and venture outside now and again just to keep from going stir crazy.  He’d be glad when he could return to work, and now had a much better understanding of why Roy sought refuge at the fire station, rather than sit at home where he had nothing to do but think about his missing child.

 

Joe heard the crunch of tires on gravel before Johnny did. The dog shot to his feet barking while running down the steps and around the corner of the house.  Johnny didn’t try to get up and lean over the railing for a look.  He assumed Chris had arrived home.  It wasn’t until Roy rounded the house with Joe at his side that Johnny knew his assumption was wrong.  Johnny struggled to stand, but Roy waved him back to the chair.  The captain climbed the steps, ignoring Johnny’s offer of a chair to instead lean against the railing. He handed a key ring to Johnny.

 

“I brought the Rover home.”

 

Johnny looked up with surprise. “I didn’t know you were getting it.  I would have ridden along.”

 

“It was a spur of the moment thing. Salazar called not long after I went off-duty and said they were ready to release it.  Besides, you couldn’t have ridden along. Brackett would have shot us both if he found out you were making a trip like that.”

 

For a lot of reasons, including what Roy had just mentioned regarding Kelly Brackett, Johnny didn’t tell his friend that he’d traveled to Nipton with Chris the previous day.

 

“How’d you get to San Bernardino?  Joanne take you?”

 

Johnny was sorry he asked the moment the question left his mouth.  Sorrow and upset flashed briefly across Roy’s face.  Whatever happened at the DeSoto home before Roy left hadn’t been good.

 

“Chet took me,” was all Roy said on the subject.  “Chris isn’t back from work yet?”

 

“No, but he should be here soon.”

 

“I’ll need him to drive me home.”

 

Johnny started to stand again.  “I can take you.”

 

“No you can’t.  Sit back down.”

 

Johnny shot his friend a disgusted look, but did as Roy ordered. 

 

“Chris is bringing a pizza home with him.  Stay and eat with us.”

 

“Thanks, but I’d better not. I don’t know if Jo…”

 

Roy let his sentence trail off.  He didn’t have to finish it for Johnny to make a few easy guesses as to what the man was going to say.  He didn’t know if Joanne had bothered to get supper together for herself and Jennifer.  He didn’t know if Joanne was planning to pick Jennifer up from work that evening.  For that matter, he didn’t know if Joanne had come out of John’s room since he’d left and even knew where Jennifer was.

 

Johnny thought again of all the things he blamed himself for, and of all the things he’d blame himself for in the future if this family fell apart before his eyes, as it had been doing ever since John disappeared.

 

An uncomfortable silence prevailed, something Johnny wasn’t used to happening between himself and Roy.  The paramedic leaned sideways, slide a patio door open, and let the panting Joe into the cool house.  He slide the door closed, then sat there as still no words were exchanged between himself and Roy. When Roy finally broke the silence, his tone was hesitant, yet carried an undercurrent of anger that only someone who knew him as well as Johnny could have picked up on.

 

“Johnny…Johnny, Detective Salazar told me that one of the kids who took the Rover – Danny Wyatt – that he says you had the door open for a long time, and that they couldn’t see what you were doing.  Wyatt’s lawyer thinks John could have slipped out of the truck then.”

 

“I…I don’t know,” Johnny said, all the while hearing his own voice in his head repeating words he didn’t recall saying.

“I need you to hide until I tell you it's safe, okay?"

Roy leaned forward.  “Think, Johnny, think.  If there’s any chance that John got away.  That you got him out of the truck and sent him--”

 

“Sent him where, Roy?  Even if I did get him out without those kids seeing him, where the hell would I have sent him? We were in the middle of a goddamn desert and I don’t even know why!  I don’t know why I took that road, and I don’t know if I got John out of the Rover or not.  I keep…”

 

“You keep what?”

 

Johnny finally admitted what he’d kept from Roy.  “Sometimes I…I think I remember telling John to hide, but I don’t know if it’s a real memory or just wishful thinking on my part.”

 

“How long have you had these memories?”

 

“I just told you, I don’t know if they are memories.”

 

“How long, Johnny?”

 

“They’ve…they’ve come in bits and pieces ever since I was at Rampart.”

 

“And you didn’t say anything about them to me?”

 

“I didn’t think they were real.  I still don’t think they’re real.”

 

“But you should have at least said something.”

 

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

 

“My hopes?”  Roy pushed himself away from the railing.  “My son is missing, and you’re worried about getting my hopes up?  I can’t believe you kept something like this to yourself.  You could have helped the police.  If they’d known--”

 

“If they’d known what?  That my memories are so vague it could have been Jennifer I was telling to hide, or my daughter, or maybe no one at all.”

 

“Still, maybe the cops would have concentrated more of their efforts on the desert around Nipton.  Maybe they would have known not to waste time and manpower looking in Barstow and San Bernardino, and all the way to Arizona for christ sake.  If you’d just told them--”  

 

“I already told you that I didn’t tell them because I have no goddamn idea what I did or didn’t tell John to do. I don’t know, Roy!  Don’t you think I wish I did?  If I could go back to the day he got in the Rover with me instead of riding home with you…If I could go back to the moment I got off that freeway…If I could give you back your child, I would, Roy.  If I could find him for you, I would.  But you’re asking me to validate memories that I’m not even sure are memories in the first place.”

 

“I should have never let John ride with you.  I should have made him get in the camper with us.  Everything with you has to be a big adventure.  He didn’t want to ride with boring old Daddy because Uncle Johnny’s more fun.  Well goddamn you and your damn adventures, that’s all I’ve got to say!  Goddamn you and your adventures, Johnny, because John has probably paid for them with his life!”

 

Roy’s voice cracked.  He swiped at the tears filling his eyes.  What other angry words might have been exchanged neither man had a chance to find out, because Chris came around the corner of the house carrying a cardboard box. 

 

“Hey, Dad. What are you doing…”

 

The smile left Chris’s face as his eyes traveled between the two men.  Johnny had no doubt the teenager could feel the tension and knew he’d just walked into the middle of something that hadn’t been pleasant.

 

“I need you to take me home, Chris.”

 

“But I just got here with supper.  Eat with us and then I’ll--”

 

“I’ll buy you something along the way.  Just take me home now.”

 

Chris caught Johnny’s slight nod that indicated he’d be wise not to give his father any hassles.

 

Chris climbed the steps and left the pizza box on the patio table. He gave it a longing look, allowed his gaze to travel to Johnny a moment as though he was trying to find answers to what had just happened, then gave a small sigh and turned to follow his father to the LeBaron.

 

Johnny heard the Chrysler’s engine come to life, then tracked its progress down the driveway until he could no longer hear gravel crackling.  He glanced at the pizza box, the aroma of warm cheese and sausage not even enticing him to open it and take a slice.

 

This time the memories were all too real as Roy’s voice replayed in Johnny’s head.

 

Well goddamn you and your damn adventures, that’s all I’ve got to say!  Goddamn you and your adventures, Johnny, because John has probably paid for them with his life!”

 

“He probably has,” Johnny murmured, barely able to keep his own voice from cracking now.  “He probably has, Roy, and I’ll never have enough words to tell you how sorry I am about that.”

 

The man struggled to his feet.  He slowly made his way into the house without his crutches while carrying the pizza box and fighting to keep his balance.  Johnny put the pizza on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, then hobbled into the living room using the wall for support.  He eased into his recliner. The throbbing in his injured knee let up just a bit when he raised the chair’s leg rest. 

 

The paramedic ignored the TV’s remote control that sat on an end table to his right.  Joe lay on the floor by Johnny’s chair, looking up at his master with mournful eyes as though he understood what had transpired outside, and why the air was heavy with sorrow and regret. 

 

Long after the sun went down and twilight gave way to darkness, Johnny sat alone in his living room wondering if he and Roy could salvage their friendship, or if like John, it would vanish without a trace, leaving behind nothing but memories and bad dreams.

­ Chapter 47

Roy watched as Chris drove off in his Pinto. Since the Land Rover was back at Johnny’s, Chris decided there was no reason for him to continue to drive Joanne’s LaBaron.  The Rover would easily hold the wheelchair while providing a comfortable ride for Johnny.

 

Chris had turned down Roy’s offer of a meal at a McDonald’s drive through.  He told his father he’d eat the pizza that was waiting for him back at Johnny’s.  The teenager seemed anxious to get in his car and return to the ranch.  Whether that was because he was tired and had to work the next day, or whether Roy’s tension and silence had made Chris uncomfortable, or whether Chris was enjoying his time away from the house that no longer seemed like home, Roy wasn’t sure.  Regardless, he didn’t argue with his son.  Just told him to drive carefully, and that he’d talk to him in a day or two. He hadn’t told Chris about his trip to Nipton, or what had precipitated the argument between himself and Johnny.  He didn’t want to force his son to choose sides, and no matter how upset Roy was, the fact remained that Johnny needed someone to help him for a while and Roy was the one who’d volunteered his family for that duty.  Therefore, it was just as well that Chris was more than willing to return to Johnny’s place, and also more than willing to stay as long as necessary.

 

Roy turned to enter the house. His eyes wandered over the hot pink Gremlin in his driveway with the pair of purple fuzzy dice hanging from the review mirror.  He hadn’t seen a Gremlin on the road in several years now, and had always thought of this peculiar looking American Motors car as a death trap.  He assumed the little vehicle belonged to one of Jennifer’s friends.  Between its color and small size, it was the kind of novelty car a teenage girl would love.

 

The first thing Roy noticed when he walked in the front door was the smells coming from the kitchen that made his stomach rumble.  Roast beef.  Fresh baked bread.  And cinnamon, nutmeg and apples like you’d mix together and put in a pie shell. 

 

After what had happened between him and Joanne that morning, Roy couldn’t imagine she’d be welcoming him home with a dinner fit for a king, but nonetheless, he allowed himself to hope she was.  To hope that, like with the breakfast she’d cooked, she was doing her best to slowly but surely return to a normal routine.

 

Roy rounded the dining area. He came to an abrupt halt when it wasn’t his wife standing at the stove with her back to him.  The pudgy little woman wearing the florescent orange dress with fat yellow sunflowers on it turned around.

 

“Ah, welcome home, Roy Rogers.”

 

“Uh…hi.”

 

“Go ahead.  Ask what is on your tongue.”

 

“On my mind?”

 

“That too. Ask away.”

 

“Uh…”

 

“What am I doing here.  That is what you want to ask, is it not?”

 

“I…yeah, I guess so.”

 

“Then I shall tell you. I came by this afternoon to visit with my new friend Joanne, and decided that what the Rogers family needs is a good home-cooked meal.”

 

“But our neighbors--”

 

“Ach, your neighbors.”  The woman waved a hand in dismissal as she opened the refrigerator and took out the milk.  “They are kind hearted people, but their meals made of Hamburger Helper and spaghetti sauce from a jar are not the same as a succulent beef of roast, mashed potatoes, bread kneaded with my own two hands, and an apple pie made from only the freshest ingredients, now are they?”

 

“Well…uh…no.  No, I don’t suppose they are.”  Roy glanced down the hall.  “Where’s Jo?”

 

“I sent her and Jennifer on a nice long walk.  She cannot hide away in this house so people will not ask her about Little Just John.  She must get used to people asking.  She must learn the best way to answer them.”

 

“The best way?”

 

The woman turned her back to Roy again as she began making gravy from the roast drippings. 

 

“Losing a child is heartbreaking, no matter the circumstances.  It is not easy for any mother to talk about.  But Joanne cannot go on blaming people for not talking about Little Just John, while at the same time giving people the impression she doesn’t want to talk about him.  This only makes things worse for all concerned, does it not?”

 

“It does,” Roy acknowledged from his own experience of not knowing from one moment to the next what Joanne wanted from him. 

 

“So, we are both in agreement, Roy Rogers. That is good.  Now you can set the table for me.  I assume Christopher will not be joining us?  I saw him bring you home, but then leave again.”

 

“He headed back to Johnny’s.”

 

“That is too bad and too good, both at the same time.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Too bad, because Christopher will miss my excellent meal.  But it is good, because John needs someone with him until his injuries heal.”

 

“I didn’t kick him out.”

 

“I never said you did.”  The woman put down the spoon she was using to stir the gravy and turned around.  “What is the matter, Roy Rogers?  You sound defensive, which is not like you.”

 

“Nothing’s the matter,” Roy said as he grabbed a stack of plates from a cabinet.  Even to his own ears Roy’s answer sounded short and abrupt, which was also not like him either, especially not when he was speaking to a guest in his home. Least of all one who was making supper.

 

“It was a hard day, no?”

 

Roy shrugged as he circled the table with the plates.

 

“Joanne told me how she reacted when you informed her you were leaving to get John’s truck.”

 

“She was right.  I should have done more.”

 

“More?”

 

“To try and find John.”

 

“What more could you have done, Bubele?”

 

“Joined in on the search parties for one thing.”

 

“But your family needed you.”

 

“They did. But still…”

 

“Hindsight is fifty-fifty as the saying goes, Roy Rogers.  You did what you thought was right at the time. What was best for Joanne, Christopher, and Jennifer.  No one can fault you for that.”

 

“Except my wife.”

 

“Your wife grieves for her child.  This can make a woman say things she normally wouldn’t.  And too, you must remember that just like you think you could have done some things differently, Joanne could have as well.  She has shut herself off from her family by hiding in Little John’s room.  I am not saying this is good or bad. I am just saying it is.  None of us knows how we would face such a tragedy like you and Joanne find yourselves with. There is not always a right or wrong to it, and no book of rules to follow either. Remember that. For this is true because I said it is so.”

 

Roy smiled a little as he finished setting the table.  He couldn’t help it.  The unorthodox woman had a way of lifting a person’s spirits.

 

Dr. Edwards began carrying food to the table.  “You stayed away all day. Joanne was fearful she pushed you too far this time, and that you had left for good.”

 

“I’d never do that.”

 

“I told her so. You are not that kind of man.  I can tell.”

 

“I…I went on up to Nipton after I got Johnny’s truck.”

 

Without Roy taking notice, the doctor started handing him platters of food to cart for her.  He walked back and forth between the dining area and kitchen, barely registering the food that was piling up on the table.

 

“I see.  Did you join a search party while you were there?”

 

“There wasn’t much in the way of search parties to speak of.  It’ll be two weeks tomorrow since John disappeared.  I don’t think the police…that they hold out much hope of finding my son ali…of finding my son.”

 

“So what did you do?”

 

“Showed John’s picture to everyone in town I ran across.  Asked a lot of questions the police have probably already asked.  Still, I had to do something, even if it does come two weeks too late.”

 

“It is not two weeks too late, Roy Rogers.  No effort made on behalf of someone you love is ever too late.  You have supported this family both financially and emotionally ever since Little John disappeared.  Do not punish yourself for doing what it is a married man is supposed to do in times of trouble.”

 

Roy didn’t comment as he put the last of the food on the table.   He could hear the sadness in the doctor’s voice when she asked, “The police have nothing new to report on Little John then?”

 

“No.  Other than one of the kids who assaulted Johnny now claims that for a period of time Johnny had one of the Land Rover’s doors open, and he and the other kid couldn’t see what Johnny was doing.”

 

“And this means?”

 

“The kid’s lawyer claims it means this would have given Johnny the window of opportunity he needed to tell John to hide somewhere.