The last time I talked to him, I was enrolling in the academy. He hates cops, so I didn’t tell him. I just said I was leaving college. He said it was a mistake. I told him he was entitled to his opinion and then hung up. Joey was missing. He didn’t like my life choices. There was nothing else to talk about.
I draw in a breath and make the call.
It rings once. Twice. Three times. Four. I’m ready to give up when—
“Hello?” A female voice.
Not surprising.
“Hi. This is Sadie. I’m looking for my dad.”
“Sadie? I don’t know any Sadie.”
“Is Curt there? Curtis Hopkins? This is his daughter.”
“What the eff?” Then, muffled, “Curt. Phone for you. Some woman who says she’s your daughter. Since when do you have a damned daughter?”
“Give me the phone, Rainey.” Then an angry, “Yeah? This is Curt Hopkins.”
“It’s me, Dad. It’s Sadie.”
“What the hell do you want? Does your mother need money?”
Miles must be able to hear his voice through the phone, because he sets his hand on my thigh and strokes his thumb over my skin. It’s a small bit of contact, but it helps.
“No. Mom’s fine. And so am I, thanks for asking.”But Joey isn’t. Joey never will be again.
“What is it, then? I’m…busy.”
Yeah, with your fuckdu jour, apparently. “I need to talk to you. I’m coming to see you. Today.”
19
MILES
We pullup in front of a rundown house on the outskirts of Billings. Back in the thirties it must’ve been prime real estate, but now? It backs up to the interstate, and the roof looks one windstorm away from being blown off.
There are more weeds than grass in the front yard. A rusty bucket sits in the cracked driveway. A dog barks from a neighbor’s house as I walk around the truck to take Sadie’s hand.
“You grew up here?” I ask, trying to think of her as a child in this environment.
She shakes her head and sighs. “No. I lived with my mom.” Her gaze eats up the same grim scene as me. “It looked better when I saw him last.”
Sadie didn’t say much on the drive, other than giving me directions. I didn’t push because the answers she’s looking for seem to lie with her father alone. We can talk and talk but we won’t get anywhere.
I open the rickety screen door and Sadie bangs on the door. No doorbells in a place like this.
It’s opened a few seconds later by an older man who bears a passing resemblance to Sadie. Same hair color—although his is mixed with gray. Same eyes, but bloodshot and tired looking. Other than that, Curt Hopkins looks nothing like his daughter.
He scoffs. “I don’t know why the fuck you came.”
What’s with his attitude? The prick.
She holds up a hand so I stay quiet.
“Joey’s dead,” she says.
He doesn't reply—in fact, he doesn’t look all that surprised—just steps back and lets us inside.