Read The Last Child for Free Online Page B

Detective.”
    Hunt pulled off his sunglasses. His shadow fell on the boy’s feet. “Hello, Johnny.”
    Johnny began folding the map. “I know what you’re going to say, so you don’t have to say it.”
    Hunt held out his hand. “May I see the map?” Johnny froze, and the hunted animal look rose again in his face. He looked down the long street, then at the map. Hunt continued: “I’ve heard about that map, you see. I didn’t believe it at first, but people have told me.” Hunt’s eyes were hard on the boy. “How many times is it now, Johnny? How many times have I talked to you about this? Four? Five?”
    “Seven.” His voice barely rose from the gutter. His fingers showed white on the map.
    “I’ll give it back.”
    The boy looked up, black eyes shining, and the sense of cunning fell away. He was a kid. He was scared. “Promise?”
    He looked so small. “I promise, Johnny.”
    Johnny raised his hand and Hunt’s fingers closed on the map. It was worn soft and showed white in the folds. He sat on the curb, next to the boy, and spread the map between his hands. It was large, purple ink on white paper. He recognized it as a tax map, with names and matching addresses. It only covered a portion of the city, maybe a thousand properties. Close to half had been crossed off in red ink. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
    “Tax assessor. They’re not expensive.”
    “Do you have all of them? For the entire county?” Johnny nodded, and Hunt asked, “The red marks?”
    “Houses I’ve visited. People I’ve spoken to.”
    Hunt was struck dumb. He could not imagine the hours involved, the ground covered on a busted-up bike. “What about the ones with asterisks?”
    “Single men living alone. Ones that gave me the creeps.”
    Hunt folded the map, handed it back. “Are there marks on other maps, too?”
    “Some of them.”
    “It has to stop.”
    “But—”
    “No, Johnny. It has to stop. These are private citizens. We’re getting complaints.”
    Johnny stood. “I’m not breaking any laws.”
    “You’re a truant, son. You’re ditching school right now. Besides, it’s dangerous. You have no idea who lives in these houses.” He flicked one finger at the map; it snapped against the paper and Johnny pulled it away. “I can’t lose another kid.”
    “I can take care of myself.”
    “Yeah, you told me that this morning.”
    Johnny looked away, and Hunt studied the line of his narrow jaw, the muscles that pressed against the tight skin. He saw a small feather tied to a string around Johnny’s neck. It shone whitish gray against the boy’s washed-out shirt. Hunt pointed, trying to break the mood. “What’s that?”
    Johnny’s hand moved to his neck. He tucked the feather back under his shirt. “It’s a pinfeather,” he said.
    “A pinfeather?”
    “For luck.”
    Hunt saw the kid’s fingers go white, and he saw another feather tied to the bike. The feather was larger, mostly brown. “How about that one?” He pointed again. “Hawk? Owl?”
    The boy’s face showed nothing, and he kept his mouth shut. “Is that for luck, too?”
    “No.” Johnny paused, looked away. “That’s different.”
    “Johnny—”
    “Did you see in the news last week? When they found that girl that was abducted in Colorado? You know the one?”
    “I know the one.”
    “She’d been gone for a year and they found her three blocks from her own house. She was less than a mile away the whole time. A mile from her family, locked up in a dirt hole dug into the wall of the cellar. Walled up with a bucket and mattress.”
    “Johnny—”
    “They showed pictures on the news. A bucket. A candle. A filthy mattress. The ceiling was only four feet high. But they found her.”
    “That’s just one case, Johnny.”
    “They’re all like that.” Johnny turned back, his deep eyes gone darker still. “It’s a neighbor or a friend, someone the kid knows or a house she walked past every day. And when they find them,