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something about the little train and he said he wanted to tell him something very important. Oh my, I had no idea.”
    “Lakes Park...where is it?
    “ It’s a couple miles from here on Gladiolus Road.” She gave Louis directions and he left, jogging back to his car. He jerked the Mustang into reverse, peeling out onto Summerlin Road. It took less than ten minutes to get to the park entrance.
    Inside, he slammed to a stop in front of a wooden sign that read PARK HOURS 8 am - 6 pm. There was a phone booth, and he thought about calling Susan, but he wanted to look here first, just in case.
    He climbed out, scanned the few cars left in the lot, but didn’t see the black BMW. He saw a map of the park and hurried over to it. The place was huge, almost three hundred acres of nature trails, swimming spots, picnic areas , and playgrounds.
    He spotted the miniature train on the map and ran back to the Mustang. He drove along, forcing himself to go slow, keeping an eye out for the black BMW. But it was after closing now, and everyone had left. Rounding a curve, he saw a lake, shimmering under the reddening sunset. Ahead was a sign for the train. He pulled into the lot and jumped out.
    He trotted to the shuttered ticket booth. The little train sat empty beyond the turnstile. His eyes came to rest on a trash can, and he spotted an ice cream cup with the distinctive Queenie’s pink lettering.
    Louis swiveled, scanning the lot, the trees, the nearby playground.
    Nothing. No one.
    Man, w hy was he even still here? Why was he even looking when he knew they were probably halfway across the state? Shit, he should’ve called the cops right away. He was wasting time.
    As he hurried back to the car, a pay phone caught his eye. He needed to call Susan now. Maybe they were back. Maybe everything was all right.
    Susan answered before the second ring. “Did you find them?”
    He took a deep breath. “They were everywhere you said, but there’s no sign of them now.”
    “I’m calling the police.”
    “No, call Dan Wainwright ,” Louis said. “He’s your chief out there and he can be there quicker. Use my name. He’ll come himself.”
    Louis hung up and glanced around the parking lot . His gut was in a knot, but it wasn’t the cold hard fear that came with the thought that a loved one was in danger. It was anger. Anger that a man could put an ex-wife and mother through this. Anger that a man could put his own son through anything like this. Anger at his own inability to stop it or to even see it coming.
     
     
     
    Louis glanced at the clock on Susan’s mantle. It was ten minutes to seven.
    His eyes drifted back to Dan Wainwright. He was standing in front of Susan, his cap tilted back on his head, a notebook in his hand. Wainwright was in uniform, his towering, bulky body seeming to fill Susan’s small living room. Louis had watched Wainwright at work before, always marveling at the chief’s calmness. Maybe it was the older man’s quiet authority, composure born of decades of FBI work and years of just plain living that Louis didn’t have. The coolness, combined with his sheer size and mane of white hair, gave Wainwright a gravity that somehow conveyed a sense that things would be all right.
    But Susan wasn’t buying any of it . Louis could see that in her face as she poured out the day’s events to Wainwright. Louis went to look out the window, came back for a moment to stand beside Susan, then returned to the window, looking out at the darkness.
    Louis could see Wainwright watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Mrs. Outlaw, where was your husband staying while he was in town?” he asked. “Have you tried calling there?”
    “He was staying here,” she said.
    “Here?”
    Susan saw the look. “I know how that sounds, but it was for Benjamin’s sake.”
    “I understand.” Wainwright closed his notebook and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m afraid all we got here is a petty custody