Before excusing Herm and Louis, Ellis took them into the hallway. ‘Leave the Eckles’ place for now. I’ll check in there myself when I’m done here.’
‘Not by yourself, you won’t,’ Herm said.
‘I’ll be fine. Go on, now.’
The deputies left with purpose, and Ellis returned his attention to Molly and Jack. ‘What makes you think she was taken, Molly?’
‘Her window was open. Wide open.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ Jack said. ‘You leave the window open all the time.’
‘I didn’t leave it open this time, Jack. I know it.’
‘You’re talking about her bedroom window?’ Ellis asked.
‘Sometimes I leave it open to let the breeze in. There’s no screen on it or anything, but it’s too high for Sammy to reach. Otherwise I’d never … Anyway this time I closed it. I specifically remember closing it.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Around one,’ Molly said. ‘I don’t usually let her nap so late in the day because she ends up staying awake all night, but she was fussy and cranky and I just thought … I closed the window. I remember closing the window.’
‘Does the window have a lock on it?’ Ellis asked.
She shook her head.
‘The latch is broken,’ Jack added. ‘It’s been broken a while, but I wasn’t in a hurry to fix it because it’s on the second floor and, well, you know. It’s Manson. Not exactly the burglary capital of America.’
Ellis nodded. ‘And when you came back to check on her she was gone. Is that it, Mrs Went?’
‘I came in around two-thirty. Her bed was empty, and the window was wide open.’
Jack paced. ‘Look, Sheriff, I don’t want to act like an ass here, but she leaves that window open all the time.’
‘For Pete’s sake, Jack.’
‘I’m sorry, Molly, but you do. I don’t want to give the impression that the open goddamn window is some integral clue when there’s every chance you left it open yourself. The window is on the second floor, remember, so if she was taken, then it was by the world’s tallest man.’
‘Ever hear of a ladder, Jack?’
Jack threw up his hands. ‘Look, she probably just wandered downstairs and went outside. Maybe she, I don’t know, saw a bird or Grace King’s cat, and she followed it, got turned around …’
Molly rolled her eyes. The little boy in her arms dug in closer to his mother.
Ellis smiled at the boy. ‘And what’s your name, son?’
‘Stuart Alexander Went, sir,’ he said.
‘We call him Stu,’ Molly said.
‘Well, Stu, do you have any idea where your little sister might be hiding? Is there someplace she likes to play in the neighbourhood?’
Stu shook his head. ‘I dunno. Sorry.’
‘She’s not out there playing,’ Molly said coldly. ‘She didn’t see a bird or Grace King’s cat and she didn’t wander off on her own. Someone came in her window and took her.’
‘What time did you get home from school, Stu?’ Ellis asked.
‘He didn’t go,’ Molly said. ‘He’s getting over a cold. I thought one more day at home might help.’
‘Did you see anything strange today, Stu?’ Ellis asked. ‘Or maybe you heard something? A noise? Anything?’
The boy glanced at his mother, then shook his head. ‘I was playing Zelda most of the day.’
‘What’s Zelda?’
‘One of his Nintendo games,’ Jack said.
Ellis felt Emma’s eyes on his back, but as he turned to face her she looked at her feet.
‘How about you, Emma? Do you have any idea where your sister might be?’
She shook her head.
‘Did you notice anything unusual on your way home from school today? Anything at all?’
‘No. I-I don’t think so.’
It looked like she had something to say.
‘You sure? The smallest detail might end up being helpful.’
‘I told you; I didn’t see anything.’
Nodding, Ellis stood and turned back to Sammy’s parents. ‘Can I see her room, please?’
Sammy’s bedroom was a magical mess of pastel pinks and deep purples. A big toy chest in one corner was bulging with stuffed animals. On the walls hung framed pictures of Sammy’s family, some childish drawings, a giant pink ‘S’ covered with silver glitter, and two movie posters: Honey, I Shrunk the Kids and The Little Mermaid.
There were more toys on the bed – a couple of dolls and more stuffed animals. Marked against the tangled, unmade bed covers was the vague outline of a small body. Ellis’s stomach churned.
He went to the window. It was large enough for a child to crawl through, but far too high for a two-year-old to reach. Even if Sammy had managed to grab hold of the ledge, she’d never be able to hoist herself up. Also, the drop on the other side was close to twelve feet. Considering there wasn’t the limp body of a little girl in the garden bed below, it was a pretty safe bet Sammy didn’t go out the window – at least not on her own. ‘So this was open when you came in?’
‘Wide open,’ Molly said. ‘I checked outside for boot prints below the window or marks from a ladder, but I couldn’t find anything.’
Jack shot a glance at Molly.
Ellis put his back to the window and looked across the room, through the bedroom door and into the hallway beyond. ‘And this door was closed when you put Sammy down for her nap?’
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘We never close the door. Sammy can’t reach the handle and she doesn’t like being locked in. Right, Molly?’
Molly kept her gaze on Ellis. ‘She was being especially cranky, so I …’
‘You shut the door?’ Jack said. ‘She hates it when you do that.’
‘You weren’t here and you never are.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Where were you when I called the drugstore?’
‘Can we please do this later?’
Ellis turned back to the window and looked out. From this vantage point he had a clear line of sight over to the Eckles’ house. Afternoon was slowly shifting into evening, and the darkness creeping in over Manson felt heavy.
A weathered length of cord had been used in place of a latch. Ellis untied it and swung the gate open with an eerie, horror-movie creak. The NO TRESPASSING sign rattled in place. He looked up at the Eckles’ house, set deep in the yard, and started to walk.
Ellis had crossed this yard some years earlier, flanked by seven armed deputies. They were there to arrest Patrick Eckles for aggravated assault. Patrick had beaten Roger Albom’s head in with a pool cue over at Cubby’s Bar, and nobody had been exactly sure why.
The porch light buzzed on, exposing a broken screen door and a dusty old sofa. As the front door opened, some base, primal instinct sent Ellis’s hand to his holstered .45. He didn’t need to produce the pistol; he just needed