Read Online Vanished in the Night by Eileen Carr - Free Book Online
Authors: Eileen Carr
Tags: Fiction, romantic suspense
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leaned down and looked in the car window. “See you tomorrow, Cedric.”
“Yeah, Gary. See you tomorrow.”
They pulled away from the curb and Gary shook the paper out from under his arm. Then the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
The picture of a boy stared up at him from the printed page. A boy with café-au-lait skin and light brown eyes. Gary knew that face. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see it again. Not after the way it looked the last time he’d seen it. Bile rose in his throat as he remembered the blood, the head tilted at such an unnatural angle.
He shook the paper open more. There had to be a reason for the photo being there. There had to bea story that would explain it. He saw the headline: BODY DUMPED IN DOWNTOWN CONSTRUCTION SITE .
How could that be? It was all so long ago. What had happened? Why would it be there now?
He opened the paper up fully and saw the second photo.
He knew that face, too, and felt even sicker. He would have recognized that face anywhere. The jaw was thicker, the eyebrows heavier, but there was no mistaking it.
He stared from one picture to the other. What bizarre twist of fate had brought those two pictures together on the same day? Was there anyone else in Sacramento who would see this and know it was significant? A chill ran down his spine. Maybe that was the point. Maybe it was a message for him. Maybe he was supposed to do something.
There would be no more bullying on his watch. He had stood by once before and done nothing, and someone had died. Someone good. Back then Gary had been small and weak, but he was a man now. He would act like a man, not like a child.
Max was whispering for help, just like Cedric had been silently praying for someone to help him. Gary could do that. He could be the one who helped. Pride swelled in his chest. He could be that person. He would be that person. He would do it for Max.
* * *
Coach Jackson lived in the 300 block of Parkshore Court, in a house he’d either bought in the 1980s or with money he’d inherited. No way had he purchased a two-story sweetheart in Greenhaven on a teacher’s salary these days. Same with the Lexus in the driveway.
Maybe his wife made piles of money. Zach had met plenty of women who made more money than he did as a cop; his youngest sister was constantly fixing him up with women from the bank where she worked. They all had fatter wallets than he did. They all also had perfectly done hair, flawless makeup, and designer clothes. None of them made his heart hammer.
Frank rang the bell of the coach’s house. “Pretty nice place for a teacher,” he observed.
“I was thinking the same thing.” There was a reason he loved working with Frank. “Guy’s a source of information, though, not a suspect. Old information, to boot.”
Frank gazed at the trees in the front yard. “A yard like this takes some time to cultivate. I checked and he’s been here since the late eighties.”
Zach looked around the yard. The trees and bushes looked like they’d been planted at least that long ago.
The man who answered the door looked like a former basketball player. Derrick Jackson was tall, lankyand loose limbed, with a full head of graying hair. Otherwise, he didn’t look much different than he had in the yearbook photos. A few more wrinkles around his eyes, and his jowls hung a little lower, but he’d obviously kept in shape.
“Derrick Jackson?” Frank unclipped the badge from his belt and held it up.
The man nodded. “That’s me. You must be the officer who called earlier. Come on in. Both of you.”
Two teenage boys sat on the couch in the living room, game controllers in hand and a combat scene playing out in front of them. One of them looked as if he’d had the entirety of his last growth spurt in his neck. The other was a little more solid looking.
“These are my sons, Danny and Rusty,” Jackson said as he walked past.
The boys didn’t even look up, but gave an acknowledging
“Yeah, Gary. See you tomorrow.”
They pulled away from the curb and Gary shook the paper out from under his arm. Then the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
The picture of a boy stared up at him from the printed page. A boy with café-au-lait skin and light brown eyes. Gary knew that face. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see it again. Not after the way it looked the last time he’d seen it. Bile rose in his throat as he remembered the blood, the head tilted at such an unnatural angle.
He shook the paper open more. There had to be a reason for the photo being there. There had to bea story that would explain it. He saw the headline: BODY DUMPED IN DOWNTOWN CONSTRUCTION SITE .
How could that be? It was all so long ago. What had happened? Why would it be there now?
He opened the paper up fully and saw the second photo.
He knew that face, too, and felt even sicker. He would have recognized that face anywhere. The jaw was thicker, the eyebrows heavier, but there was no mistaking it.
He stared from one picture to the other. What bizarre twist of fate had brought those two pictures together on the same day? Was there anyone else in Sacramento who would see this and know it was significant? A chill ran down his spine. Maybe that was the point. Maybe it was a message for him. Maybe he was supposed to do something.
There would be no more bullying on his watch. He had stood by once before and done nothing, and someone had died. Someone good. Back then Gary had been small and weak, but he was a man now. He would act like a man, not like a child.
Max was whispering for help, just like Cedric had been silently praying for someone to help him. Gary could do that. He could be the one who helped. Pride swelled in his chest. He could be that person. He would be that person. He would do it for Max.
* * *
Coach Jackson lived in the 300 block of Parkshore Court, in a house he’d either bought in the 1980s or with money he’d inherited. No way had he purchased a two-story sweetheart in Greenhaven on a teacher’s salary these days. Same with the Lexus in the driveway.
Maybe his wife made piles of money. Zach had met plenty of women who made more money than he did as a cop; his youngest sister was constantly fixing him up with women from the bank where she worked. They all had fatter wallets than he did. They all also had perfectly done hair, flawless makeup, and designer clothes. None of them made his heart hammer.
Frank rang the bell of the coach’s house. “Pretty nice place for a teacher,” he observed.
“I was thinking the same thing.” There was a reason he loved working with Frank. “Guy’s a source of information, though, not a suspect. Old information, to boot.”
Frank gazed at the trees in the front yard. “A yard like this takes some time to cultivate. I checked and he’s been here since the late eighties.”
Zach looked around the yard. The trees and bushes looked like they’d been planted at least that long ago.
The man who answered the door looked like a former basketball player. Derrick Jackson was tall, lankyand loose limbed, with a full head of graying hair. Otherwise, he didn’t look much different than he had in the yearbook photos. A few more wrinkles around his eyes, and his jowls hung a little lower, but he’d obviously kept in shape.
“Derrick Jackson?” Frank unclipped the badge from his belt and held it up.
The man nodded. “That’s me. You must be the officer who called earlier. Come on in. Both of you.”
Two teenage boys sat on the couch in the living room, game controllers in hand and a combat scene playing out in front of them. One of them looked as if he’d had the entirety of his last growth spurt in his neck. The other was a little more solid looking.
“These are my sons, Danny and Rusty,” Jackson said as he walked past.
The boys didn’t even look up, but gave an acknowledging
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