Tim sat up straight and addressed him pointedly. “Could it be something else? The noises. Some creature in the fog.”
“Round here, nothing would surprise me. We have a pair of foxes behind the house. I don’t hear them so much, but my parents do. Sound like hell, my dad says, when they’re out there mating.”
“Could it be coyotes?” Tim asked. “Friend of mine says coyotes have been seen around town. Right on the beach.”
Pollock shifted his gaze around the room as if to ensure that no one was eavesdropping. “My guess is that you’ve been troubled by that big white dog running wild around here. Probably the same fella that dug up your beach. I’d be careful around dark.”
Quiet as a ghost, Jip materialized in the kitchen. He must have slid across the wooden floors in his thick woolen socks to have arrived without a sound, without a twitch. His features were set still on his face, as though he had been listening for a while, and when Pollock met his glance, Jip gave no sign of distress or displeasure, not even a blink of the eyes. His mother rose to usher him over to the policeman. “How long have you been there, quiet as the morning?”
“Officer Pollock,” Tim said, “this is Jack Peter. J.P. I call him Jip. Jip, this is the policeman they sent.”
Pollock extended his hand, but Jip stood a safe distance from the stranger. They considered each other like two gunslingers, and the standoff ended when Jip noticed the holstered gun at his hip.
“Are you a real policeman?”
“Sure am. Past two years, least.”
“Is that a real gun?”
Pollock rested his hand on the butt of his pistol. “Sure is.”
“Do you ever shoot anyone?”
“Only if I had to, as a last resort.”
“What about a German soldier or pirates or monsters? What if they were trying to kill you, could you shoot them so they would stop?”
Tapping her nails on the table, Holly drew their attention. “That’s enough about that, Jack. Did you see his police car parked in the driveway?”
He nodded but did not take his eyes off the pistol.
“Did you see the lights, Jack?”
“There’s a pattern,” he said. “My sweater is red and blue.”
“Red and blue so people notice when you’re driving up behind them. Same idea with the siren.”
“You ever see a dead body?” Jip asked.
The policeman stood and paced the floor by the back window, facing the ocean. “I have to confess, I never have.”
“I saw my friend Nick when he was dead.”
Tim interrupted. “He wasn’t really dead, Jip. Just unconscious.” He turned to the policeman. “When they were seven, Jip and his friend Nick nearly drowned one day. We had to pull them out of the ocean, give them mouth-to-mouth.”
“I drew Nick.”
Holly gestured toward the picture hanging on the fridge. “That’s Nick right there. On the door.”
His father stood, prepared to reach out to his son. “Yes, Jip, you drew him. Right, we see. But there’s no need to make a big deal out of it.”
“But the bones,” Jip said.
The policeman took the package from the table and peeled back the towel. “It’s an old bone. Washed up on the shore.”
“I drew bones.” The boy raised his voice.
Holly rose from her chair and insinuated herself between the child and the policeman. “He drew a picture of bones. We bought him an art set for Christmas. From Sharon’s. Superdeluxe. Pencils and markers and a giant sketch pad. He’s been drawing things. You saw his picture of Nick on the refrigerator. Jack, why don’t you get the drawing you were working on today? You can show Officer Pollock.”
His stocking feet spun on the wooden floor like a cartoon character’s until he found traction and raced upstairs.
Once her son was out of earshot, Holly said, “Look, he gets stuck in his head sometimes, and he needs a way out, so that’s why we’re urging the drawing. For when he is nonverbal.”
After a sip of cocoa, the policeman had a light milky mustache above his lip. His face reddened against his navy shirt.
The boy returned, laid the scroll upon the table, and backed away three steps. With a soft scraping sound, the paper uncurled to reveal the pile of human bones, a whole skeleton mixed in a hole.
“That’s quite remarkable,” said Pollock. “Did you copy that picture from a book?”
“I did it,” Jip shouted. “The bones, the hole.”
“Easy there, sport,” Tim said.
Frustration bubbled in the boy. He rocked and swayed where he stood, hands clenched, and under his breath, he muttered, “Murder.” Nobody else had noticed that Officer Pollock was now squeezing into his jacket and reaching for his hat.
“I’ve stayed too long, and you seem to have a situation on your hands. Best I leave.”
“Oh, no,” Holly said. “You haven’t finished your cocoa.”
“Thanks all the same, but I’m really on duty. Sorry to have upset anyone. You going to be okay there, Jip?”