Free Night Relics by James P. Blaylock

It was close enough
    so that he could still make it home in time to put a fresh bandage on his hand and take a quick shower before his dinner meeting
    with Klein.
    Traffic cleared, and he swung out onto the highway, heading northeast toward the turnoff to Trabuco Oaks. In his rearview
    mirror he saw a Volkswagen bus pull up behind him, signaling to make a left, up Parker Street, into the Oaks. A blond woman
    was driving, and he knew right away who she was.
    “Beth,” he said out loud. Linda’s name only occurred to him afterward, as a sort of echo. He looked at his bandage-wrapped
    hand. Beth would heal both wounds! The sight of her sent a thrill through him now, and for a moment his breath caught in his
    throat as it had that morning, as if the mere sight of her would physically incapacitate him. Running into her twice in one
    day! What were the odds of that? He couldn’t let the opportunity slide. It would be the easiest thing in the world right now
    to find out where she lived.
    He breezed past Parker, watching in the mirror as the bus turned left, disappearing beyond the general store. Fifty yards
    farther, he made a quick U-turn across the left shoulder and pulled straight out onto the highway again.

13
    D ETECTIVE S LATER SAT IN SILENCE, LOOKING OUT AT THE street.
    “What’s being done?”
    “Nothing,” the cop said. “There isn’t any case. Just the testimony of one hiker. It was night. The man was scared, alone.
    When the ranger got back in there he couldn’t find anything at all. No blood, no broken-up bushes. Sheriffs looked the place
    over next day. There wasn’t a piece of thread or a scuffed rock. Nothing. Locals back in there hadn’t seen or heard anything.”
    “So what are you saying?” Peter asked. “What the hell happened to the bodies? Nobody was dead? What?”
    The cop shrugged. “Hiker might have been full of baloney. Or else the people he saw might not have been dead at all. Maybe they got up and walked away. That’s possible. Hell,
    we get reports of dead bodies around here all the time. Almost always turns out to be someone passed out drunk or a bag lady
    asleep in the Plaza. So I’m saying that nobody knows what happened out there in the canyon. Might be a half dozen answers
    for it. They’ve got the hiker’s description of the alleged bodies, though—clothes, hair color.”
    “What clothes?” Peter asked, suddenly full of both hope and fear. If Amanda and Peter had disappeared out there, they would
    have been wearing the clothes they’d driven out in. They hadn’t brought any others.
    “Woman had on a long black dress. The hiker was closeenough to see that. Apparently there was some moonlight. The boy …”
    “He’s sure it was a boy?”
    “That’s what it says here. The boy wore light-colored pants, maybe khakis. White long-sleeve shirt.”
    “That isn’t what Amanda and David were wearing.” Peter said. A wave of relief swept across him. “It wasn’t them.”
    Detective Slater shrugged again, noncommittally. “Let’s hope not. As far as the sheriff’s department knows, it wasn’t anyone.
    They don’t have any bodies, just a man’s testimony. What got me, though, was the coincidence of the whole thing. You lose
    your wife and boy out there, and a couple days later a hiker claims to have seen a woman and child dead. It’s a small world,
    but it’s not that small. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to drive out to Santa Ana, soon as you leave here. Sheriff’s office is down
    on north Flower Street, 550 block near the corner of Santa Ana Boulevard, by the courthouse buildings. I called them when
    I went after the report a few minutes ago.”
    Peter’s head spun. He had spent the last hour processing what he knew, over and over until he couldn’t see past it or around
    it. Now all of that was swept aside by these new revelations. “Am I under suspicion then?” he asked suddenly. “What, I just
    drive over to the sheriff’s department