“I thought Sam’s father was dead.”
Ben stepped into the porch light. “Unless your eyes are playing tricks, I’m just as alive as you are and I need to talk to you about my son.”
He felt Claire’s hand on his arm, warning him to take it easy. She returned her attention to the woman and managed a tentative smile. “Ben’s a private investigator, Martha. He’s hoping you can help him.”
“It’s getting late,” Martha said. “You should have called first. Tomorrow’s a school day. I have to get the kids to bed.”
“This won’t take long.” Ben brushed past her, making his way into the house. There were toys scattered around, but no kids in sight. He could hear them playing somewhere upstairs. The living room was neat, with sturdy furniture and inexpensive lamps. He could see into the kitchen, and it was clean, too. He couldn’t complain about that.
“I just wish you had called,” the woman said.
Ben caught the sound of heavy footfalls and turned to see a burly man, bald and grim-faced, thumping down the stairs.
He walked into the living room. “What’s going on in here?”
“Bob, this is Sam’s dad, Ben Slocum,” Claire said. “He’s hoping you and Martha can help him find his son.”
“It’s late. Come over tomorrow when the kids are in school.”
Ben’s blood begin to simmer. “My son is missing. Since it was your responsibility to watch out for him’which you failed to do’I would think you’d be interested in helping me find him.”
“Listen, mister. Sam ran away. The police are looking for him. I don’t care who you are’I want you out of here.”
Claire gasped as Ben grabbed a fistful of Bob Roberson’s white T-shirt and slammed him up against the wall. “My son is out there. He’s only nine years old. You’re going to answer my questions. Now. Right this minute.”
From the corner of his eye, he spotted the wife slipping toward the cell phone on the kitchen table. Claire stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Score one for the lady.
Ben slammed Roberson once more against the wall. “You hear what I’m saying?”
Roberson swallowed. “Yes. Fine. What is it you want to know?”
Ben let him go and stepped back out of his comfort zone. “Did Sam take his clothes when he left?”
“Yes, most of them, anyway. That’s how we knew he wasn’t taken against his will.”
“Did you or your wife ever talk to Troy Bridger?”
Martha answered, her face a little pale. “I did. He said he was a friend of Sam’s mother’s. He asked if he could speak to the boy. I told him he could but they had to stay in the living room.”
“Did he mention any plans he might have had, something he was going to do? Any place he was going or where he was originally from?”
“No.”
“How about after that? Did you see him again?”
“He came over one other time. It was a Saturday. I was busy making lunch...that’s how I remember. I figured he would keep Sam occupied. The boy was always underfoot, causing some kind of trouble.”
One of Ben’s eyebrows went up. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it is. Sam couldn’t get along with the other kids.”
“You mean he couldn’t get along with Kenny and Tammy,” Claire corrected. “Your two kids. Sam got along fine with Suzy and Tim.”
“Just because that’s what Sam told you doesn’t mean it’s true.”
Ben looked at Claire, noticed the mutinous set of her chin and figured it must be gospel. “The day Sam went missing...did you see Bridger that day?”
“No.”
He turned to the husband. “How about you?”
“No. Look. Sam’s run away once before. He came home the same day. That’s what happened this time. He left on his own.”
Ben chewed on that. He didn’t know what the boy might do. He had to trust Claire’s judgment. He just hoped he was trusting the right person.
“How long did you wait after Sam disappeared before you called the police?”
Silence fell in the living room.
Ben’s jaw tightened. He moved into Roberson’s space. “How long?” he asked softly.
“Two days. We figured the kid was having a tantrum, all right? We thought he’d come back when he got hungry.”
Ben’s hands fisted. “You don’t know what a lucky man you are, Roberson. You’re lucky I’m smart enough to know that if I started pounding on you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Turning, he strode out of the house. He didn’t hear what Claire said, just the sound of her heels on the sidewalk behind him as she hurried to catch up.
“I’m driving,” he said. “Give me the keys.”
“You’re too angry to drive. I’ll get us home.”
“We aren’t going home. Give me the goddamn keys.”
Claire tentatively placed them in his hand, and his fingers closed around them. A few minutes later, he was heading down the freeway toward Hollywood, working to keep his speed under control and his temper in check. He hadn’t gotten much out of the Robersons, but he had a friend in L.A. who owed him a favor.
It was time for Ben to collect.
* * *
By the time he turned off the Hollywood freeway onto Sunset Boulevard, Ben’s temper was under control. He’d been stationed in San Diego during his days with the teams. He knew his way around L.A. enough to get by. And to help, Claire had a GPS mounted on the dash. He had plugged in the destination street address before he’d pulled away from the curb.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Claire said after a lengthy silence that told him how much she disapproved of his behavior at the Roberson house.
“No wonder Sam ran away. What a pair of a-holes.”
“Yes, well, if they call the police, it’ll only cost us more time.”
“They won’t call the police. Roberson’s too scared I’ll come back and beat the crap out of him. Which I’m more than tempted to do. The man waited two days, Claire. Two days.”
“I know. I knew you’d be angry if I told you.”
“I missed it in the police report. Probably a good thing.”
The corner of her mouth curved up. She had a very pretty mouth when she wasn’t scowling. Nice full lips, glossy pink lipstick.
“Laura said you had a temper.”
His gaze moved from her mouth to her eyes. “I’d never hurt a woman. I wouldn’t hurt a kid, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking that Sam wouldn’t put up with Kenny’s bullying. That’s why the Robersons didn’t really like him. He’s three years younger than Kenny, and yet he was the leader in the house, the one the other two foster children looked up to.”
A trickle of emotion slipped through him. He wasn’t sure what it was. Pride? How could that be? He didn’t even know the kid.
He amended that. With Claire’s help, he was beginning to know his child, at least a little.
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask to talk to the other foster kids in the house,” she said.