and caught me, but they were just . . . just lazy. Complacent. I wouldn’t have gotten out, otherwise.”
“What the hell’s he talking about?” Deputy Wicklow asked.
Tim shook his head. He was still focused on Tag. “You didn’t get this from the Minneapolis police, right?”
“No, but not because you told me not to. Sheriff John will decide who to contact and when. That’s the way it works here. Meanwhile, though, Google had plenty.” He gave Luke a you might be poison stare. “He’s listed in the database of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, and there are also beaucoup stories about him in the Minneapolis Star Tribune and the St. Paul Pioneer Press. According to the papers, he’s supposed to be brilliant. A child prodigy.”
“Sounds that way to me,” Bill said. “Uses a lot of big words.”
I’m right here, Luke thought. Talk about me like I’m here.
“The police aren’t calling him a person of interest,” Tag said, “at least not in the newspaper stories, but they sure do want to question him.”
Luke spoke up. “You bet they do. And the first question they ask will probably be ‘Where’d you get the gun, kid?’ ”
“Did you kill them?” Bill asked the question casually, as if just passing the time. “Tell the truth now, son. It’ll do you a world of good.”
“No. I love my parents. The people who killed them were thieves, and I was what they came to steal. They didn’t want me because I scored fifteen-eighty on the SATs, or because I can do complex equations in my head, or because I know that Hart Crane committed suicide by jumping off a boat in the Gulf of Mexico. They killed my mom and dad and kidnapped me because sometimes I could blow out a candle just by looking at it, or flip a pizza pan off the table at Rocket Pizza. An empty pizza pan. A full one would have stayed right where it was.” He glanced at Tim and Wendy and laughed. “I couldn’t even get a job in a lousy roadside carnival.”
“I don’t see anything funny about any of this,” Tag said, frowning.
“Neither do I,” Luke said, “but sometimes I laugh, anyway. I laughed a lot with my friends Kalisha and Nick in spite of everything we were going through. Besides, it’s been a long summer.” He didn’t laugh this time, but he smiled. “You have no idea.”
“I’m thinking you could use some rest,” Tim said. “Tag, have you got anybody in the cells?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, why don’t we—”
Luke took a step backward, alarm on his face. “No way. No way.”
Tim held up his hands. “Nobody’s going to lock you up. We’d leave the door wide open.”
“No. Please don’t do that. Please don’t make me go in a cell.” Alarm had become terror, and for the first time Tim began to believe at least one part of the boy’s story. The psychic stuff was bullshit, but he had seen before what he was seeing now, while on the cops—the look and behavior of a child who has been abused.
“Okay, how about the couch in the waiting area?” Wendy pointed. “It’s lumpy, but not too bad. I’ve stretched out on it a few times.”
If she had, Tim had never seen her do it, but the kid was clearly relieved. “Okay, I’ll do that. Mr. Jamieson—Tim—you still have the flash drive, right?”
Tim took it out of his breast pocket and held it up. “Right here.”
“Good.” He trudged to the couch. “I wish you’d check on that Mr. Hollister. I really think he might be an uncle.”
Tag and Bill gave Tim identical looks of puzzlement. Tim shook his head.
“Guys who watch for me,” Luke said. “They pretend to be my uncle. Or maybe a cousin or just a friend of the family.” He caught Tag and Bill rolling their eyes at each other, and smiled again. It was both tired and sweet. “Yeah, I know how it sounds.”
“Wendy, why don’t you take these officers into Sheriff John’s office and bring them up to speed on what Luke told us? I’ll stay here.”
“That’s right, you will,” Tag said. “Because until Sheriff John gives you a badge, you’re just the town night knocker.”
“Duly noted,” Tim said.
“What’s on the drive?” Bill asked.
“I don’t know. When the sheriff gets here, we’ll all look at it together.”
Wendy escorted the two deputies into Sheriff Ashworth’s office and closed the door. Tim heard the murmur of voices. This was his usual time to sleep, but he felt more