“Was that Bede?” asked Marston, ducking his head, focused on the top of Kell’s dark head as he put his cell phone back on the table.
“Yeah.” Kell lifted his chin, all but asking for a kiss, and Marston gave it to him, a gentle sweep, the connection of skin and warmth, a gentle clasp, Kell’s hand on his waist.
“Told him about us,” said Kell, when the kiss ended.
“Oh?” Marston wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“He said I acted like an asshat not telling you.” Kell nodded as if agreeing with an invisibly present erstwhile cellmate. “But he said you sounded cool.”
“I’m glad he approves of me,” said Marston, though he really didn’t care whether Bede approved of him or not. Bede was far away and Marston was here and Kell was here, and that was just fine by him. “Bet he was jealous of your new phone, though.”
“Yeah.” Kell seemed pleased by this. “Before I left home, I had a nice iPhone, but I left it behind, figuring they could track me if I took it.”
“Smart thinking.” Which it was, though Kell’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dodson, however eager they’d been to send their kid away to be stripped to the very bones of his being, must have wished from time to time that Kell had taken his phone with him so they could find him easier. Or would they have? Maybe the mother, perhaps, but not the dad.
This direction of musing reminded him that he needed to call the Fayetteville police department and let them know that Kell was no longer a missing person. He’d delayed because he’d been distracted, but that was no excuse for making a small-town detective, or whoever was on the case, keep a file open simply because Marston had gotten lazy. Though he had to wonder why Wyoming Correctional hadn’t already made that call.
“Go get some lunch,” he said. “I have a call to make.”
With a quick kiss, Kell ambled away along the path that led into the woods and to the mess tent. Meanwhile, feeling guilty, Marston quickly found and dialed the non-emergency number for the Fayetteville police department. It rang once and was picked up.
“Fayetteville Police, how can I direct your call?” asked a professional, feminine voice.
“I need to speak to whoever runs your missing persons department,” he said, holding his phone tightly to his ear in an effort to stave off how surreal it suddenly felt.
“Can I ask in what regard?” she asked. Then she explained, “We have two officers who handle that, so I want to make sure to get you to the right person.”
If he was being screened in case he was some kind of nut job, well, that went with the territory, it only made sense.
“I work with the Farthingdale Fresh Start Program here in Wyoming,” he said. “We take parolees from Wyoming Correctional and help them work off their parole conditions.”
“Okay,” she said, and he thought she must be taking notes.
“Recently, we took in a kid named Kell. Kelliher Dodson is his full name. His parents reported him missing about two years ago? He was seventeen then. He’s nineteen now, and he’s safe. Not missing. I wasn’t sure if Wyoming Correctional contacted you, so I thought I would.”
“Just one moment,” she said, and put him on hold.
Whooshing out a breath, he realized that all kinds of changes might come from this phone call, all of them unknown at that moment. But it was the right thing to do, helping to close that file so the police at that station could concentrate on crimes that needed solving.
When the phone clicked, Marston straightened up.
“Hello,” said an older voice, masculine this time. “This is Alvin Roebuck, in charge of missing persons. I hear you have a find for me. Something to help me close the file on Kelliher Dodson?”
“Yes,” said Marston, and he told the story again, feeling as though he was handing over something rather precious to him. He told Alvin about how Kell had gotten arrested, and how he’d come to the valley. How well he was doing. How he’d received his cell phone at two weeks, how he’d put on good weight, how he got along with everyone. “And it’s Kell,” he added to all of this. “His name is Kell. It’s what he prefers.”
“I’ll make a note, and double check with Wyoming Correctional, see if they can fax me something over,” said Alvin, pausing as if writing that information down. “Thanks for letting me know, but um. Here’s the thing. Mr. and Mrs. Dodson got divorced right after Kell ran off. The mother’s been looking for him ever since. Can you give me Kell’s number and she can call him? I mean, I’ll tell her where he is, but I know she’s going to want to reach out. She’s been frantic, hiring a string of PIs and calling down to the station every other minute.” Alvin paused and Marston sensed he was thinking something through. “Don’t get me wrong. I can tell she loves him. The father doesn’t give a shit, but it sure would be nice to have her off my back.”
The sound Marston heard spring from his throat felt as though it came from his heart, a scarred, deep place which if opened up anew might never heal. If Kell’s mom called him and told him she wanted him back, then Kell might go to her and Marston would be alone again. It would break him like nothing else.
On the other hand—
It would be wrong not to let them connect if they wanted to do so. If Kell wanted it, at least. That was the key thing.
“Look,” said Marston, his mouth suddenly dry. “He ran off for a reason. If you read the file—”
“I read the file,” said Alvin. “Believe me, I’m well aware what was going on in that house. Have you spoken to Mrs. Hanrihan, by the way?”
“Yes,” said Marston. “She’s the one who suggested I call you so you could close the books on this case.”
