Catch Me by A. J. Holt

Author:A. J. Holt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 1999-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

The trailer belonging to Nguyen Vinh Duong was a 1953 Tour-a-Home in two-tone cream and pale green, its tires long rotted into the spongy ground, the chrome strip running along its mid-section and the aluminum frames of the windows pitted brown with rust. Somewhere along the way a plastic awning had been added over the concrete-block steps leading up to the front door, but the plastic was cracked, the metal poles supporting it sagging drunkenly. There was a new-looking satellite dish perched on the roof. All the curtains over the windows were closed.

Nguyen’s home was set at the far end of the trailer park, hidden by a screen of low, scrubby trees. Its closest neighbor was fifty feet away. The shortcut that the boy had followed went almost directly in front of it. Off to one side, half hidden under a blue plastic drop sheet, was a lean-to covering a set of empty boat cradles. As Jay and Jack Dane pulled up behind Chief LaFramboise’s truck, the rain began to ease and the clouds overhead were blown away in ragged strips. They got out of the rental car and joined the police chief and his deputy.

“What kind of boat did he have?” Dane asked. “One of those little dugout things?”

“A pirogue you mean?” said LaFramboise.

Tran shook his head. “He didn’t like them for round-net fishing. He had a Crawdad.”

“What’s that?” Dane asked.

“Flatboat made out of plastic,” explained LaFramboise. “Coleman made them ten years ago.” He looked across at the trailer. “They don’t rust, at least.”

“He had an outboard?”

“Yamaha 50.” Tran nodded. “They are both gone.”

“Kinda thing you don’t need a trailer for,” said LaFramboise. “Just dump it in back of the truck and go.”

“Let’s take a look in the trailer,” Jay suggested.

The police chief used a screwdriver from his truck to pop the lock on the front door of the trailer. One by one they stepped up on the concrete blocks and went through the doorway into the kitchen. It smelled faintly of sesame oil, but other than that it was clean and tidy. Next to it the living room was just as well kept.

There was a small couch done in a yellow-and-black tartan, a matching tilt chair, and a massive television under the window. On top of the set there was a new-looking VCR and on top of that, sitting on a protective cloth, there were several brightly colored votive candles, a plastic-framed picture of a pain-wracked Jesus, another Jesus, this one nailed to a plaster cross, and two statuettes of the Virgin, one with child, one without. Jay stepped forward and popped a tape out of the VCR. It was something called The Boys of Cellblock Q. On a coffee table in front of the couch there was a fishbowl half-filled with matchbooks. Jay picked out a handful. They were from gay bars all over Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. She showed them to Dane.

“He gets around.”

Adjoining the living room was a small bedroom which Nguyen was obviously using as a storage area.

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