Read Online The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller by Andrew E. Kaufman - Free Book Online

his eyes, and all at once, the large man with the rough exterior was transformed into a tightly-wound bundle of raw emotion: sadness with a grip so tight there seemed to be no escape for him. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob, trying to conceal the tears seeping out between his fingers.
    I took a deep breath, tried to maintain my reporter’s demeanor, stay impartial, compartmentalize—all that stuff. But the human side of me hurt for him, truly ached. I could never in my life know what he must have gone through, never, because it was unimaginable. I didn’t know what to say, what to do, so instead I began writing monster repeatedly in my note pad. Then I looked up and said softly, “Mr. Kingsley, would you like to stop?”
    He wiped his face with his sleeve, shook his head, and then, still sobbing said, “I called the sheriff, and within a very short time the neighborhood was flooded with deputies—they were everywhere, all looking for Nathan, but they never found him.” His voice caught. “They never found my son …”
    I worked through a lump in my throat, barely managing a whisper when I asked, “Mr. Kingsley, was there any chance you’d made some sort of contact with Ronald Lucas before all this happened? Or maybe your wife might’ve met him?”
    “No,” he said, shaking his head. “We were new in town, had only lived here a few months, barely knew anyone.” He shook his head again. “No, definitely not.”
    “Where did you move from?” I asked.
    “Georgia.”
    I could see my own shock registering on his face. “Whereabouts in Georgia?”
    “A place called Black Lake.”
    I stared at him, my body motionless, my mind taking off.
    “Something wrong?”
    “No,” I managed to say and heard weakness in my voice despite my attempt to hide it. I cleared my throat, straightened my posture, did my best to look unaffected, and then, “The necklace your son was wearing the day he went missing. Can you tell me about it?”
    “The Saint Christopher medal? That was a gift from his godfather.”
    “And his name?”
    “Warren Strademeyer.”
    My heart gave a single, heavy thud, one that went straight up into my throat.
    “Mr. Bannister?” I heard him say.
    “Fine,” I replied, but really, I was far from it. I forced myself to say, “So… this Warren Strademeyer. How did you and your wife know him?”
    “He and Jean were friends since they were kids. In elementary school. A little town called Rose Park, in Georgia.”
    I nodded slowly.
    “It was a different world there,” he continued. “Warren was lucky enough to break away from it. He’s a state senator now.”
    Boy, did I know that.
    I said, “Do you have any contact with him these days?”
    He shook his head with regret. “Not in years. Heard less and less from him after Nathan disappeared. Finally lost touch after a while.”
    “Why, do you think?”
    “Warren was on his way up. Everyone knew it. He changed after he graduated from law school. Wasn’t the same person anymore. He started moving in different circles. We weren’tgood enough to fit into them.”
    I nodded. “And all this happened right after Nathan disappeared?”
    “Well…” He stopped, gave me a wary look. “Why all the interest in Warren?”
    I leaned back, crossed my leg, tried to force casual. “The necklace was never found. Just trying to understand its history.”
    He nodded and seemed okay with that.
    “So when did he give it to your son?”
    “Right after he was born. He wanted Nathan to have it at his baptism.”
    “And do we know for sure Nathan was wearing it when he went missing?”
    “He always wore it. Jean insisted.”
    “Did this Warren attend Nathan’s memorial service?”
    “No.” He looked away, shook his head. “Claimed he had to travel on some kind of business.”
    I thought about the letter from Stover, Illinois and those haunting words about a body.
    Dennis continued. “Of course that tore Jean up the most. Lousy of him,