Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4, April 1980

The boy said, “No, thank you. We were taught not to accept rides from strangers.”

He was putting on a nice polite front, but I could tell that he was scared. I guess I would have been, too, in his place. There was no telling how long they had been plodding along in the darkness.

“Listen, kids,” I said, “my name is Markham. What’s yours?”

“Cindy,” the girl piped. “I’m cold.”

“I told you to be quiet, Cindy.” The boy was all business. “I’m John Wheeler, Jr., sir.”

“I’m glad to meet you, John and Cindy.”

“Everybody calls him Jackie,” Cindy told me seriously.

Before he could shush her again, I went on, “All right, now that we know each other, we’re not strangers, are we? How about if I take you home?”

Jackie was still suspicious, no doubt feeling responsible for his sister, but he was obviously tired and wanted to turn the both of them over to some sympathetic grown-up. He hesitated, then said, “Well... all right. If you take us straight home.”

“Sure. I’ll be glad to.”

I opened the door on the passenger side and held it for them. The girl got in first, and I could see the goose bumps on her arms and legs. She must have been really chilled.

It was when Jackie stepped into the illumination of the dome light that I had trouble concealing my surprise. Bruises covered his arms, and the vestiges of a black eye darkened his face. There was something that looked very much like a cigarette burn on the back of his left hand, and his right hand was swollen and bruised.

I had heard of abused children, of course, just like everybody else, but this was the first hard evidence I had seen. I felt a tightening in my stomach, but I didn’t say anything.

Instead, I got in the car myself and then, keeping my tone fairly light, asked, “Where in the world did you kids come from?”

“Back there.” Jackie pointed in the direction from which I had come.

“Are you sure you’re not the Man in the Moon?” Cindy asked. “My daddy says that the Man in the Moon gets little girls who don’t do what their daddies tell them to.”

I smiled and ran a hand over her hair. “I’m not the Man in the Moon.”

“Good. ’Cause I think he’s bad.”

I looked over her head at Jackie and asked, “Where were you going? Do you live around here?”

“Up the road, in Dunes,” he answered.

I remembered Dunes vaguely from earlier trips. It was a little place on the road about five miles up ahead. A long walk for two little kids. I put the car in gear and said, “I’ll take you there.”

As I drove through the night toward Dunes, I did some hard thinking. There were no marks on Cindy that I could see, but Jackie had definitely been through the mill. If he had gotten treatment like that at home, I wasn’t so sure it was a good thing to take him back. But that wasn’t really up to me to decide. Still, there was nothing to stop me from having a long talk with the parents when I got there.

It didn’t take us long to reach the little town. The gas station and the few stores were dark, as were most of the houses. I asked Jackie, “Where to now?”

“We live in a trailer.” He pointed to the left. “Over there.”

There was a trailer park a couple of blocks off the highway. I turned toward it and then saw the county sheriff’s car parked in front of one of the trailers. All the lights were on inside, and I knew without asking that this was where Jackie and Cindy lived.

Cindy confirmed that with a pointing finger and a high-pitched, “There’s our trailer!”

I came to a stop behind the sheriff’s car and killed the engine. Almost before it quit turning over, the kids were out and scrambling up the wooden steps to the door of the trailer.

Someone inside heard them coming. The door was flung open. A women stepped out and uttered a nearly hysterical cry, then swept the two of them up in her arms. As I got out of the car, I could hear her sobbing, “Oh my God... You’re all right, you’re all right!”

A tall man stepped out behind the woman and looked past the reunion at me. He came around them and down the steps. He was holding his hat in his hands, but I didn’t have any trouble recognizing the uniform or the holstered revolver at his hip.

He nodded as he came up to me. “Howdy. I’m Sheriff Cartwright. Where’d you find the kids?”

“On the highway about five miles out,” I answered. “They were coming in this direction already, so I thought I’d give them a ride. A couple of runaways who changed their minds?”

“Nope.” I couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but I could tell that they were taking a long hard look at me. “Could I see some I.D.?”

I got out the leather folder with both of my licenses in it and handed it to him. He turned slightly so that the light from the trailer would fall on it and then studied the contents. “Private detective,” he grunted. “What are you doing around here?”

“Just passing through on my way home. I was in Arizona testifying about a case.” I didn’t really have to volunteer that information, but I didn’t see any harm in it.

“Were the children by themselves?”