Finally, a stretcher emerged from the first ambulance and was carried to the rear bumper and laid in the weeds. Two paramedics grabbed Romey's feet and gently pulled him until two other paramedics could grab his arms. The cops watched and joked about how fat Mr. Clifford was, because they knew his name now. They asked if more paramedics were needed to carry his big ass, if the stretcher was reinforced or something, if he would fit in the ambulance. Lots of laughter as they strained to lower him.
A cop put the pistol in a bag. The stretcher was heaved into the ambulance, but the doors were not closed. A wrecker with yellow lights arrived and backed itself to the front bumper of the Lincoln.
Mark thought of Ricky and the thumb-sucking. What if he needed help? Mom would be home soon. What if she tried to wake him and got scared? He would leave in just a minute, and smoke the last cigarette on the way home.
He heard something behind him, but thought nothing of it. Just the snap of a twig, then, suddenly, a strong hand grabbed his neck and a voice said, "What's up, kid?" Mark jerked around and looked into the face of a cop. He froze and couldn't breathe, "What're you doing, kid?" the cop asked as he lifted Mark up by the neck. The grip didn't hurt, but the cop meant to be obeyed. "Stand up, kid, okay. Don't be afraid." Mark stood and the cop released him. The cops in the clearing had heard and were staring. ' "What're you doing here?" "Just watching," Mark said.
The cop pointed with his flashlight to the clearing. The sun was down and it -would be dark in twenty minutes. "Let's walk over there," he said.
"I need to go home," Mark said.
The cop placed his arm around Mark's shoulders and led him through the weeds. "What's your name?" "Mark." "Last name?" "Sway. What's yours?" "Hardy. Mark Sway, huh?" the cop repeated thoughtfully. "You live in Tucker Wheel Estates, don't you?" He couldn't deny this, but he hesitated for some reason. "Yes sir." They joined the circle of policemen, who were • now quiet and waiting to see the kid.
"Hey, fellas, this is Mark Sway, the kid who made the call," Hardy announced. "You did make the call, didn't you, Mark?" He wanted to lie, but at the moment he doubted a lie would work. "Uh, yes sir." "How'd you find the body?" "My brother and I were playing." "Playing where?" "Around here. We live over there," he said, pointing beyond the trees.
"Were you guys smoking dope?" "No sir." "Are you sure?" "Yes sir." "Stay away from drugs, kid." There were at least six policemen in the circle, and the questions were coming from all directions.
"How'd you find the car?" "Well, we just sort of walked up on it." "What time was it?" "I don't remember, really. We were just walking through the woods. We do it all the time." "What's your brother's name?" "Ricky." "Same last name?" "Yes sir." "Where were you and Ricky when you first saw the car?" Mark pointed to the tree behind him. "Under that tree." A paramedic approached the group and announced they were leaving and taking the body to the morgue. The wrecker was tugging at the Lincoln.
"Where is Ricky now?" "At home." "What happened to your face?" Hardy asked.
Mark instinctively reached for his eye. "Oh, nothing. Just got in a fight at school." "Why were you hiding in the bushes over there?" "I don't know." "Come on, Mark, you were hiding for a reason." "I don't know. It's sort of scary, you know. Seeing a dead man and all." "You've never seen a dead man before?" "On television." One cop actually smiled at this.
"Did you see this man before he killed himself?" "No sir." "So you just found him like this?" "Yes sir. We walked up under that tree and saw the car, then, we, uh, we saw the man." "Where were you when you heard the gunshot?" He started to point to the tree again, but caught himself. "I'm [not sure I understand." "We know you heard the gunshot. Where were you when you heard it?" "I didn't hear the gunshot." "You sure?" "I'm sure. We walked up and found him right here, and we took off home and I called 911." "Why didn't you give your name to 911?" "I don't know." "Come on, Mark, there must be a reason." "I don't know. Scared, I guess." The cops exchanged looks as if this were a game. Mark tried to breathe normally and act pitiful. He was just a kid.
"I really need to go home. My mom's probably looking for me." "Okay. One last question," Hardy said. "Was the engine running when you first saw the car?" Mark thought hard, but couldn't remember if Romey had turned it off before he shot himself. He answered very slowly. "I'm not sure, but I think it was running." Hardy pointed to a police car. "Get in. I'll drive you home." "That's okay. I'll just walk." "No, it's too dark. I'll give you a ride. Come on." He took his arm, and walked him to the car.
Chapter 4
DIANNE SWAY HAD CALLED THE CHILDREN'S CLINIC AND was sitting on the edge of Ricky's bed, biting her nails and waiting for a doctor to call. The nurse said it would be less than ten minutes. The nurse also said there was a very contagious virus in the schools and they had treated dozens of children that week. He had the symptoms, so don't worry. Dianne checked his forehead for a fever. She shook him gently again, but there was no response. He was still curled tightly, breathing normally and sucking his thumb. She heard a car door slam and went back to the living room.
Mark burst through the door. "Hi, Mom." "Where have you been?" she snapped. "What's wrong with Ricky?" Sergeant Hardy appeared in the door, and she froze.
"Good evening, ma'am," he said.
She glared at Mark. "What have you done?" "Nothing." Hardy stepped inside. "Nothing serious, ma'am." "Then why are you here?" "I can explain, Mom. It's sort of a long story." Hardy closed the door behind him, and they stood in the small room looking awkwardly at one another.
"I'm listening." "Well, me and Ricky were back in the woods playing this afternoon, and we saw this big black car parked in a clearing with the motor running, and when we got closer there was this man lying across the trunk with a gun in his mouth. He was dead." "Dead!" "Suicide, ma'am," Hardy offered.
"And we ran home as fast as we could and I called 911." Dianne covered her mouth with her fingers.
"The man's name is Jerome Clifford, male white," Hardy reported officially. "He's from New Orleans, and we have no idea why he came here. Been dead for about two hours now, we think, not very long. He left a suicide note." "What did Ricky do?" Dianne asked.
"Well, we ran home, and he fell on the couch and started sucking his thumb and wouldn't talk. I took him to his bed and covered him." "How old is he?" Hardy asked with a frown.
"Eight." "May I see him?" "Why?" Dianne asked.
"I'm concerned. He witnessed something awful, and he might be in shock." "Shock?" "Yes ma'am." Dianne walked quickly through the kitchen and down the hall with Hardy behind her and Mark following, shaking his head and clenching his teeth.
Hardy pulled the covers ofFRicky's shoulders and touched his arm. The thumb was in the mouth. He shook him, called his name, and the eyes opened for a second. Ricky mumbled something.