The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,66

lives near me. He might have taken her back to his house. I can show you.”

One officer stayed in the living room and wrote what she said on a pad while the other followed Wanda down the short hall to Destiny’s bedroom, then a loud shriek filled the trailer. The officer lowered his pad and ran down the hall. Patricia couldn’t squeeze past the officers so she stayed with Mrs. Greene until Wanda Taylor emerged from between them with Destiny in her arms.

The little girl looked sleepy and unconcerned about all the fuss. Wanda sat on the sofa, Destiny draped across her lap, limp body cradled in her mother’s arms. The officers didn’t say anything and their faces betrayed no expression.

“I saw him,” Patricia told them. “His name is James Harris, he lives on Middle Street, his van is a white van with tinted windows. Something’s wrong with his mouth, with his face.”

“This happens sometimes, ma’am,” one of the officers said. “A kid hides under the bed or sleeps in the closet and the parents call the police saying she’s been abducted. Gets everyone worked up.”

The enormity of what he was saying was too much. All Patricia could say was, “She doesn’t have a closet.”

Then she realized what she could do.

“Check her leg,” she said. “Beneath her panties on the inside part of her thigh, there should be a mark there, like a cut.”

Everyone looked at each other but no one moved.

“I’ll look,” Mrs. Greene said.

“No, ma’am,” the officer said. “If you want us to check the child we need to call the ambulance and take her to the hospital so someone qualified can do it. Otherwise we can’t use it as evidence.”

“Evidence?” Patricia asked.

“If you want to bring charges against this man, you have to do it the right way,” the officer said.

“If you’re alleging that you saw a man molesting this child, it is imperative that a trained medical professional examine her,” the other officer said.

“I’m a nurse,” Patricia told him.

“No one’s taking my little girl anywhere,” Wanda said, holding Destiny, her limp head flopping against her mother’s shoulder, eyes half closed, arms hanging down at her sides. “She’s staying with me. She’s not going out of my sight again.”

“It’s important,” Patricia said.

“She’s seeing the doctor in the morning,” Wanda Taylor said. “She’s not going anywhere until then.”

Pounding came from the front door and they looked at each other, frozen. The aluminum door rattled in its frame until Mrs. Greene pushed past everyone. She flung the door open. Carter stood on the porch.

“Jesus Christ, Patty,” he said. “What the hell is going on?”

* * *

—

“If my wife says she saw this man doing this, then that’s what happened,” Carter told the officers, standing in the middle of the trailer. He looked out of place to Patricia, and then she remembered he’d grown up poor, and if mobile homes had existed in 1948 he would almost certainly have been born in one.

“We searched everywhere she told us, sir,” the officer repeated with a heavy emphasis on the sir. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t believe her. If they find anything wrong with this little girl tomorrow we’ll have what your wife said tonight in the report.”

“I’m sleepy,” Destiny said, dreamy and soft, and Wanda began the process of getting everyone out of her home.

Outside, Carter made sure the two officers had his information, while Mrs. Greene walked over to Patricia.

“No point standing around outside when it’s this hot,” she said, and they started back to her house. Then she added, “They’re going to take that little girl away.”

“Not if there’s nothing wrong with her,” Patricia said.

“You saw how they looked at Wanda,” Mrs. Greene said. “You saw how they looked at her home. They think she’s trash, and she is, but not the kind of trash they think she is.”

“She needs to get to the doctor,” Patricia said. “No matter what.”

“What’d you really see that man doing to her?” Mrs. Greene asked.