Page 9 of Midnight Creed

Just as Hogan started to dig in his pocket for the knife again, Norwich stopped him, putting up her gloved hand. “Hold on.” Then to Creed, she said, “Looks like your dog is still trying to tell us something.”

“I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“Hush up,” Sully told the younger man, and it was clear this was finally someone Hogan would listen to.

Before Creed responded, Norwich addressed the two men now casually without letting on that they were squatting on private property.

“Mr. Creed and his scent dog are here helping us find a missing teenager. A witness claims the boy ran behind the Red Roof Inn and into the woods early this morning.”

She paused, as if sealing the evidence bag required her full attention. But Creed knew Norwich was studying the men’s reactions. Hogan’s eyes darted to the old man, but he had been acting strangely since they arrived. Sully, to his credit, didn’t flinch.

Norwich continued, “His parents are awfully worried about him. He’s only fifteen. Kind of small. Maybe five three, five four. Dark hair. Blue eyes. His name’s Caleb Monroe.”

“I didn’t see no runaway boy this morning,” Sully offered.

“Are there others staying out here? In the woods?” she asked, again casually, no recriminations or accusations.

Sully shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s hard to find a quiet place where people won’t bother you. Gunner and me try not to bother anybody in return.” The dog looked up expectantly at the sound of her name. Sully waited, not backing down and holding eye contact with the sheriff. “Are we in trouble, Sheriff?”

“Some of this land is private property,” she told him and paused. Sully only nodded. “Right now, I’m only looking for the boy.” Then Norwich lifted the evidence bag. “And you’ll need to show me where your dog found this bone.”

“Sure, sure. I can do that.” He fingered his chin, already trying to remember.

Hogan fidgeted, and the deputy stood stock-still, his weapon holstered but his hands on his waist as if he might need to be ready to draw again.

During this whole exchange, Bolo hadn’t moved. When Creed glanced down at him, the dog tapped his paw again and wagged his snout in Hogan’s direction. He looked up at Creed. Another tap as if to say, Why aren’t you getting this?

“Sheriff,” Creed said. “Do you know what Caleb was wearing the last time anyone saw him?”

Norwich glanced over. She noticed Bolo, his nose back up, sniffing and all but pointing. Then she took a hard look at Hogan.

“That jacket seems a bit small for you.”

6

"I didn’t steal it!” Hogan tugged at the jacket, pulling it together over his chest, trying unsuccessfully to make the sides come together.

“But it’s not yours?” Norwich asked.

He teetered on the balls of his feet, and Creed thought he might run. He looked even younger now with this fresh panic. His eyes darted between Bolo and Deputy Greer, who had his weapon unholstered again.

“I found it,” Hogan said too loudly and pointed. “It was right there on the mattress. Nobody else was around. I didn’t see no teenager. And I found the jacket tossed in the middle of that mattress. Somebody threw it away. People throw away really good stuff.”

“Slow down, Hogan. Sheriff,” Sully stepped forward. “I can vouch for this young man.” Despite the gravelly, deep voice and the eyes that didn’t quite focus, the old man sounded like a gentleman diplomat, if you discounted the worn-out cargo pants and the stained T-shirt. “I can tell you, as long as I’ve known him, he’s never taken anything that hasn’t been left behind.”

Left behind. It was an interesting phrase.

Creed glanced at his dog. Bolo seemed content.

As Norwich questioned the two men, Creed couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He’d asked Bolo to find Caleb Monroe using a sweatshirt the family had given Sheriff Norwich. They started the search from the entrance to the woods behind The Red Roof Inn’s parking lot. Someone at the Waffle House next door claimed to see a teenager matching Caleb’s description walk across the lot and into the woods.

He tried to remember how far they’d walked before Bolo caught the scent and took off. It wasn’t in the parking lot. Not at the edge of the woods. But Bolo led them directly to Hogan. Well, not Hogan, but the jacket he was wearing. Caleb’s jacket.

Now Hogan was repeating himself and over explaining why he’d put it on.

“People throw away some really good stuff,” he told Norwich.

Creed tuned out their conversation. He didn’t care if Hogan was lying or not. Instead, he tried to figure out why Bolo led them to the jacket and stopped. If Caleb took the jacket off and left it on the mattress, where did Caleb go from here?