not Guthrie, the guy who’d done a forty-foot-high fall last year. He’d broken ribs then. Maybe they never healed, or pierced his lung, or bled or—
He couldn’t be in this shallow lagoon, but I shone the light across the water anyway, then down into the water along the side of the raised edge. A couple of birds squawked. I almost dropped the flashlight. “Guthrie! Are you here?”
The light hit something white. Round and white, like a shoulder, or a butt, or the top of his head. “Oh, God!” I stepped up on the ledge, leaned
over the water. It couldn’t be—The light was shaking in my hand, the wind icing my sweaty face. It just couldn’t—I leaned far over, bracing my foot on the side of the ledge to keep from falling in. The light shone brighter, clearer—on a stone.
Relief flooded through me. For an instant I forgot where I was and almost lost my balance. Then, as suddenly, I was livid. Where the hell was he, anyway? Did he get lost in the fog? Forget his phone? Goddamn him! Maybe, like Mike, he’d walked off to a new life. Maybe he was in a cab on the way to the airport.
“Guthrie!”
I was almost back to the middle of the park. I heard John’s voice calling his name and getting louder. Our flashlight beams crossed in the water and then on the lawn.
“Did you see anything ?” I asked. “Anything at all?”
“No. We’re going to have to wait for better light. We might as well go hunt up some breakfast and—”
“John! He said he’d be here. If he changed his mind he would have called. He’s got to be here. Or maybe he went around to the temple and got lost.”
“I was there.”
“Can’t you call the crime scene techs and get some light here? Or a dog. I could call Mom and she’d bring Duffy.”
“Cool off. It’s already dawn above the fog. It’ll be light soon.”
“Maybe he got sick and knocked on the door of one of those houses across the street and—” I knew I wasn’t making sense.
“When he had a phone? And his car’s right here?”
“But if he was really sick—”
“He’d call 911.”
“And they’d come and take him to the hospital and that’d explain his car here.”
“You can call the hospitals while we eat breakfast.”
“I’m not leaving here!”
My brother sighed. “Suit yourself. But . . . look, I’ve been at hundreds of scenes like this. I could get backups and techs here, but the only thing they’d do would be to walk around in the half-dark and trample any clue that might be here. If you want to walk around the lagoon again, I’ll go with you, but I’m telling you now, it’s not going to make any difference.”
He was right. But I couldn’t just leave. I didn’t know what to do. All at once, I felt empty and exhausted. I stood on the sidewalk, grimly looking back at Guthrie’s car on the grass. I could barely bring myself to say, “We should pop the trunk.”
“You’re absolutely positive it’s his car?”
I shone the light down on the license plate. A blotch of mud covered the first number. I moved in closer, squatted. “Omigod!”
“What?”
“Feet. Look.” I raced to the front of the car and aimed the light underneath. This time the white shape was no stone. What I saw was a pale white scalp with a fringe of brown hair around it.
“Guthrie! Are you okay? Damon! Answer me! You don’t need to move, just grunt. Or something. Anything! Please, Guthrie!”
I shoved myself under the bumper.
Something was pulling me back—John.
“We’ve got to get this off him.”
Sirens cut the air. My brother said something.
“Help me!” I screamed at him.
The car was so low. The grass was wet, the wheels sunk down into it. The undercarriage had to be pressing on Guthrie. And he wasn’t answering me. “The side. We can lift the side of the car and flip it. Come on, here!”
John’s arms were around me, imprisoning me. I shoved but I had no leverage. Brakes squealed, doors slammed, shoes hit the sidewalk.
“Backups,”
He couldn’t be in this shallow lagoon, but I shone the light across the water anyway, then down into the water along the side of the raised edge. A couple of birds squawked. I almost dropped the flashlight. “Guthrie! Are you here?”
The light hit something white. Round and white, like a shoulder, or a butt, or the top of his head. “Oh, God!” I stepped up on the ledge, leaned
over the water. It couldn’t be—The light was shaking in my hand, the wind icing my sweaty face. It just couldn’t—I leaned far over, bracing my foot on the side of the ledge to keep from falling in. The light shone brighter, clearer—on a stone.
Relief flooded through me. For an instant I forgot where I was and almost lost my balance. Then, as suddenly, I was livid. Where the hell was he, anyway? Did he get lost in the fog? Forget his phone? Goddamn him! Maybe, like Mike, he’d walked off to a new life. Maybe he was in a cab on the way to the airport.
“Guthrie!”
I was almost back to the middle of the park. I heard John’s voice calling his name and getting louder. Our flashlight beams crossed in the water and then on the lawn.
“Did you see anything ?” I asked. “Anything at all?”
“No. We’re going to have to wait for better light. We might as well go hunt up some breakfast and—”
“John! He said he’d be here. If he changed his mind he would have called. He’s got to be here. Or maybe he went around to the temple and got lost.”
“I was there.”
“Can’t you call the crime scene techs and get some light here? Or a dog. I could call Mom and she’d bring Duffy.”
“Cool off. It’s already dawn above the fog. It’ll be light soon.”
“Maybe he got sick and knocked on the door of one of those houses across the street and—” I knew I wasn’t making sense.
“When he had a phone? And his car’s right here?”
“But if he was really sick—”
“He’d call 911.”
“And they’d come and take him to the hospital and that’d explain his car here.”
“You can call the hospitals while we eat breakfast.”
“I’m not leaving here!”
My brother sighed. “Suit yourself. But . . . look, I’ve been at hundreds of scenes like this. I could get backups and techs here, but the only thing they’d do would be to walk around in the half-dark and trample any clue that might be here. If you want to walk around the lagoon again, I’ll go with you, but I’m telling you now, it’s not going to make any difference.”
He was right. But I couldn’t just leave. I didn’t know what to do. All at once, I felt empty and exhausted. I stood on the sidewalk, grimly looking back at Guthrie’s car on the grass. I could barely bring myself to say, “We should pop the trunk.”
“You’re absolutely positive it’s his car?”
I shone the light down on the license plate. A blotch of mud covered the first number. I moved in closer, squatted. “Omigod!”
“What?”
“Feet. Look.” I raced to the front of the car and aimed the light underneath. This time the white shape was no stone. What I saw was a pale white scalp with a fringe of brown hair around it.
“Guthrie! Are you okay? Damon! Answer me! You don’t need to move, just grunt. Or something. Anything! Please, Guthrie!”
I shoved myself under the bumper.
Something was pulling me back—John.
“We’ve got to get this off him.”
Sirens cut the air. My brother said something.
“Help me!” I screamed at him.
The car was so low. The grass was wet, the wheels sunk down into it. The undercarriage had to be pressing on Guthrie. And he wasn’t answering me. “The side. We can lift the side of the car and flip it. Come on, here!”
John’s arms were around me, imprisoning me. I shoved but I had no leverage. Brakes squealed, doors slammed, shoes hit the sidewalk.
“Backups,”
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