Free Hard News by Jeffery Deaver

explained that she was going home to her mother’s in Boston, like she’d said, and how she was going to think about going back to school. She spent a long paragraph, the last one, talking about how happy she was that Rune and Courtney were such good friends and how they’d gotten along so well becauseThe smile vanished. she knew Rune would take good care of the girl. Oh, shit . . . Rune ran into the small storeroom in the bow of the boat, the room that Claire and
    Courtney had shared. Goddamm it! The little girl was lying, asleep, on top of Claire’s futon, clutching a mutant stuffed animal that might, at one time, have been a rabbit.
    Son of a bitch. Claire, how could you? Rune did a fast survey. The room was pretty much cleared out. Claire had taken her clothes and jewelry and whatever other objects had filled the dust-free squares and circles and trapezoids on the top of the dresser.
    Everything, gone - except for Courtney’s toys and clothes and a poster of the Jackson 5 that Claire had kept, waiting for it to become chic enough to put up again. Son of aRune ran outside to find the letter again. bitch!
    The closing paragraph of the letter said only that she hoped to be back to pick up
    Courtney sometime and to give her the home she needed and deserved. Sometime? Rune was sweating. She actually felt her scalp prickle. Her fingers left stains on the
    paper. No address. No phone number. She didn’t even remember Claire’s real last name -the girl kept trying on stage names
    for the day when she became a professional model. Rune went back to the room and searched carefully. The only clue she found was a bra under the bed with initials penned on the side - C.S. But Rune thought it looked a little small for Claire and remembered that one of her boyfriends had been a transvestite.
    Hopeless, Rune sat down in the middle of the room and picked up a toy, a wooden penguin on a stick. His broad plastic feet were on wheels. She ran him back and forth, the webbed feet slapping on the wooden deck. I don’t want to be a mother. Claire . . . Slap, slap, slap.
    The jogging penguin woke up Courtney. Rune sat down on the futon, kissed the girl’s cheek. “Honey, did you talk to your
    mommy this morning?” “Uh-huh.” The little girl rubbed her eyes. Oh, they’re so damn cute when they do that. Come on,
    kid, get ugly. “Did she say where she was going?” “Uh-huh. Can I have some juice?” “Honey, did your mother say where she was going?” “Bawden.” “Boston, I know. But where?” “Uh-huh. Juice?” “Sure. We’ll get some Ocean Spray in a minute. Where in Boston?” “Grandma’s house.” “Where is your grandmother’s house?” “Bowden. I want some juice.” “Honey, what’s your mother’s name?” “Mommy.” The little girl started to squirm. “No, I mean her last name?” “Mommy. I want some juice!” Rune said, “Did she say anything before she left?” Courtney stood up in bed, pulled away from Rune. “Zoo.” “The zoo?” “She said you’d take me to the zoo.” “That’s what your mommy said?” “Uh-huh. I want juice!” “Did she say how long she’d be gone?” Courtney frowned for a moment then extended her arms as wide as they’d go. She
    said, “Long, long time.” Rune picked up the stuffed rabbit. Oh, shit. Courtney stuck her lower lip out threateningly and said, “Juice.” Sam Healy was in his late thirties, over six feet tall and lean. His thinning hair was combed straight back and his moustache drooped over the corners of his mouth. He resembled a cowboy, at least when he was wearing what he now wore - a plaid shirt, jeans and black boots. His profession: a detective with the NYPD Bomb Squad.
    They sat in Rune’s houseboat, where he spent an occasional night, and she leaned forward, listening to him as intensely as if he were telling a rookie how to dismantle a C4 demolition charge. She asked, “How often should I feed her?” Healy said, “You’re too nervous