“I just folded and bagged it the way I always do.” She was starting to see what he was getting at. “Do you think Bobby Joe put something in with Jess’s clothes?”
“More likely in the quilt,” John said with conviction. “I’ll make a few calls and see what we can come up with. Keep your fingers crossed.”
Samantha was grinning through her tears. “You’re right. That has to be it. I remember thinking how cute that quilt was with little denim pockets and flaps and buttons sewn right into the design for toddlers to play with!”
Hopes soaring, she closed her eyes and thanked God while John phoned his station and explained his theory. They were right. They had to be. The police had gone over the E.R. with a fine-tooth comb and had discovered nothing. The same applied to the parking lot and the old car Bobby Joe had been driving. Therefore, whatever he’d been carrying on his person had to have been removed. And the only objects that had left the room other than the people, were the personal items in the plastic bag.
Hopefully, the mystery would be solved soon and she could welcome Brutus home with open arms.
* * *
John didn’t know how to break it to her. The expectant look on Sam’s pretty face was going to vanish the moment he spoke and he knew it. Nevertheless, he owed it to her to deliver the truth.
He cleared his throat. Took her hand. Held it tightly and willed her to receive the information calmly, if not happily. “We’re too late. Whatever was at the hospital left when Jess did.”
“Of course it did.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Miss Opal said his mother had already taken him home. Naturally she’d have picked up his clothing and other belongings, too.”
“Right. Which means we have no way to check other than to visit the woman and hope she’ll cooperate.”
“If she was as mad at Bobby Joe as I think she was, we may still have a chance.”
John decided not to mention the possibility that the young mother was as involved in drugs as Bobby Joe had been. If that were the case and she’d found the stash amid her own son’s clothing, she’d most certainly lie about it.
“How do you want to proceed?” John asked.
“I don’t know. Do you think it would be best to let Opal handle this? She volunteered to help us.”
“And she knows Jess’s mother personally,” John added. “Why don’t you give her a call?”
Sam checked the time. “Because I think it’s way too late at night. I don’t want to upset her by waking her up.”
“Now you’re starting to sound just like you did when we were kids,” John told her. “You spent your childhood being afraid of triggering your father’s bad temper. I remember lots of times when you backed off in spite of being in the right.” He paused for effect. “Don’t do that this time, Sam. You’ll never forgive yourself if you do.”
The astonishment in her expression was followed quickly by clear resolve. “You’re right. I had slipped back into my old habits.” She reached for a phone book and thumbed it open. “I’ll call Opal.”
“Good. And I’ll go get an evidence bag for this new note. If we end up going out we’ll drop it off at the station.”
“Do you think they’ll take it seriously?”
“Yes,” John said flatly. “This isn’t just about a lost dog anymore. It’s about drug trafficking. If we can catch whoever is so intent on getting Bobby Joe’s stash and put them away, too, it’ll be a win-win for the department.”
“And save Brutus,” Samantha said, holding her phone to her ear. She raised a hand just as John was about to answer. “Hello, Miss Opal,” she began, “sorry to bother you so late. This is Samantha Rochard. Remember when you said you’d do anything to help me? Well, I have a favor to ask.”
* * *
Listening to the story Opal told, Samantha began to tremble. Marty hadn’t come home at all and his grandmother had no idea where he’d gone. Moreover, when the older woman had gone to check on Jess and his mother she’d found their house empty and looking as if its occupants had packed up and left in a hurry.
Sam’s eyes met John’s. She shook her head. “It’s no use. Opal says she thinks Jess and his mother have split. Marty’s missing, too. Our chances of finding the quilt, if that happens to be where the drugs are stashed, are nonexistent.”
“Nothing’s impossible for God,” he countered.