could find any people, that is. They all disappeared forty or more years ago. George Allman talks about that town all the time.”
“Got it.”
She went to the door, serape swishing, then turned. “You don’t believe me, and I ain’t a bit surprised. Why would I be? I been the town weirdo for years before you came, and if the Lord doesn’t take me, I’ll be the town weirdo years after you’re gone.”
“Annie, I never—”
“Hush.” She stared at him fiercely from beneath her sombrero. “It’s all right. But pay attention, now. I’m telling you . . . but he told me. That boy. So that’s two of us, all right? And you remember what I said. They come in black cars.”
6
Doc Roper was putting the few tools of examination he’d used back into his bag. The boy was still sitting in Mr. Jackson’s easy chair. His face had been cleaned of blood and his ear was bandaged. He was raising a good bruise down the right side of his face from his argument with the signal-post, but his eyes were clear and alert. The doc had found a bottle of ginger ale in the little fridge, and the boy was making short work of it.
“Sit there easy, young man,” Roper said. He snapped his bag shut and walked over to Tim, who was standing just inside the door to the outer office.
“Is he okay?” Tim asked, keeping his voice low.
“He’s dehydrated, and he’s hungry, hasn’t had much to eat in quite awhile, but otherwise he seems fine to me. Kids his age bounce back from worse. He says he’s twelve, he says his name is Nick Wilholm, and he says he got on that train where it started, way up in northern Maine. I ask him what he was doing there, he says he can’t tell me. I ask him for his address, he says he can’t remember. Plausible, a hard knock on the head can cause temporary disorientation and scramble memory, but I’ve been around the block a few times, and I can tell the difference between amnesia and reticence, especially in a kid. He’s hiding something. Maybe a lot.”
“Okay.”
“My advice? Promise to feed him a big old meal at the café, and you’ll get the whole story.”
“Thanks, Doc. Send me the bill.”
Roper waved this away. “You buy me a big old meal someplace classier than Bev’s, and we’ll call it square.” In the doc’s thick Dixie accent, square came out squarr. “And when you get his story, I want to hear it.”
When he was gone, Tim closed the door so it was just him and the boy, and took his cell phone from his pocket. He called Bill Wicklow, the deputy who was scheduled to take over the night knocker’s job after Christmas. The boy watched him closely, finishing the last of his cold drink.
“Bill? This is Tim. Yeah, fine. Just wondering if you’d like a little dry run on the night-knocking job tonight. This is usually my time to sleep, but something’s come up down at the trainyard.” He listened. “Excellent. I owe you one. I’ll leave the time clock at the cop-shop. Don’t forget you have to wind it up. And thanks.”
He ended the call and studied the boy. The bruises on his face would bloom, then fade in a week or two. The look in his eyes might take longer. “You feeling better? Headache going away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Never mind the sir, you can call me Tim. Now what do I call you? What’s your real name?”
After a brief hesitation, Luke told him.
7
The poorly lit tunnel between Front Half and Back Half was chilly, and Avery began to shiver immediately. He still had on the clothes he’d been wearing when Zeke and Carlos had hauled his small unconscious body out of the immersion tank, and he was soaked. His teeth began to chatter. Still, he held onto what he had learned. It was important. Everything was important now.
“Stop with the teeth,” Gladys said. “That’s a disgusting sound.” She was pushing him in a wheelchair, her smile nowhere in evidence. Word of what this little shit had done was everywhere now, and like all the other Institute employees, she was terrified and would remain so until Luke Ellis was hauled back and they could all breathe a sigh of relief.
“I c-c-c-can’t h-h-help ih-it,” Avery said. “I’m so c-c-cold.”
“Do you think I give a shit?” Gladys’s raised voice echoed back from the tile walls. “Do you have any idea of