A Reasonable Doubt, Susan Sloan [books for 7th graders .txt] 📗

knew him -- maybe just a little rough around the edges,” he said.  “Any idea what happened?”

“Not really,” Stiversen replied.  “He always had a pretty hot temper, as you know.  But over the past couple of years that changed.  Then it was like he would be calm as can be one minute, and the next, he’d be flying off the handle for no reason at all.”

“Did you know he was using?”

“No, I didn’t,” the police officer said.  “But I guess it didn’t come as such a big surprise to find out.  Did you know he was suspended for a month last year?  He put a shoplifter in the hospital with a ruptured spleen -- a homeless guy, who all he did was steal a turkey sandwich, for Christ sake.  The chief had no choice, but he did his best to keep it in the house.”

“Yeah, I think I heard something about that,” Joe said.  In fact, he didn’t have a clue what Stiversen was talking about, but he wasn’t going to let him know that.  He simply filed the information away in his head, on the chance that it might become relevant down the road.

“Some of us started talking back then, you know, trying to figure out what was going on with him,” his friend continued.  “We knew there was something wrong.  Not that we came up with drugs, mind you -- he was apparently very discreet about what he was doing in that department -- but there was something.  We thought maybe he was having trouble at home, you know.  I wish now we’d figured it out.”

“Not your fault,” Joe told him.

“All the same,” Stiversen said, “I want you to know that I’m sorry about Lightfoot.  I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job.”

“Like you said, it wasn’t your call,” Joe reminded him.

“Still, I jumped to a conclusion, when I should have been objective.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up over it.  I got to tell you, we pretty much all jumped to the same conclusion.”

Stiversen looked around the bar, as if to check out who might be there, then hunched over close to Joe and lowered his voice.  “I don’t think we’re going to find him,” he said.  “I’m hearing a lot of noise being made, but I think it’s mostly for show.  Maybe it’s got something to do with the stuff about the investigation that Lily was starting to bring out in court.  But between you and me, I don’t see any big commitment being made, at least not by this department, when it comes to getting out there and searching for him.”

“Between you and me,” Joe said, “I doubt it would make any difference.”

“You think he’s long gone, don’t you?”

“I think, wherever he is, he’ll never be found -- at least, not by any of us.”

“And you’re still going through the motions?”

“It’s Lily’s call.  And as long as she’s committed, it’s my job.”

. . .

Charles Graywolf was in excellent physical condition for his age, but it had been decades since he had climbed the mountains.  On this particular day, it was taking him far longer than it used to take to get where he was going, but it was not only because of his age, it was also because he assumed he was being tracked, and he had made a number of false turns and tricky detours to assure himself that there was no one behind him and no one above him who could determine his true destination.

Although he knew they didn’t believe him, he hadn’t deceived the police officers that came looking for his nephew, or misled the private investigator that came to talk about him.  Jason had not come to his home and Graywolf had not heard from him.  The part he didn’t feel obliged to share was that he had a pretty good idea where his nephew would be.  So he climbed.

It was after noon by the time he reached the flowing stream and followed it to the little clearing and the cave beside the pool where he and his nephew had camped at least a hundred times during the boy’s youth.  The fresh bed of leaves covering the cave floor told him that Jason had been there, but he wasn’t there now.  The old man was not concerned.  He removed the heavy backpack he had been carrying and settled down to wait.  He had told his wife not to expect him back until he found his nephew, and he meant it.  But it felt good to sit, to rest.  Graywolf decided it would be all right if he closed his eyes for a moment.

The shadows were long when he opened them again.  A low fire crackled nearby.  He sat up with a start to see his nephew hunkered over the flame, roasting a rabbit.

“Hello, Uncle,” Jason said, almost as though he had been expecting him, and perhaps he had.  “Are you hungry?”

Graywolf realized he wasn’t just hungry -- he was ravenous.  It was a long trek through the mountains, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  He reached for his backpack and pulled out some of the provisions he had brought with him -- bread, corn, and beans that his wife had prepared, and beer.  The two men settled down to feast.  Graywolf popped the caps off two bottles of the warm beer and offered one to his nephew.

Jason looked at it for a long minute.  Warm or not, he knew he could down it in one gulp, like a man whose thirst was so deep it could never be quenched.  It may not have been rum, but it was better than nothing.  He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head.

“Thanks, you drink it for me,” he said.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Graywolf exclaimed, truly surprised.

“My lawyer got me this guy,” Jason explained.  “Showed me what serious drinkin’ could do to the body.  I guess knowin’ about all that and thinkin’ about what it’s done to my mother, well, it kinda