William Royden

He had obviously been there before.

He moved so quickly that I almost had to trot to keep up.

Cording banged on the front door.

At first there was no answer, so Cording began calling out loudly again and again for someone named Mr. Coakland.

Eventually he got a response.

We heard a weak, gravelly, drunk-sounding voice from behind the door.

The man would not open it, though.

Cording demanded that Mr. Coakland tell him why we had just seen his son in the park.

The answer came back after a long pause.

I don't know.

This upset Cording even more.

He informed Mr. Coakland that his son was still, quote, holding the sheet you wrapped him in, end quote.

He asked Coakland what he intended to do about it.

Again, the answer came in a sad, tired voice.

I don't know.

Cording yelled at Coakland through the door, saying that this was absolutely the last time anything like this was going to happen.

and that now Coakland would either let the boy rest or Cording would take permanent action.

The last thing Cording said to him was to ask if he had a shovel in his shed.

Cording walked around the side of the house past a forgotten tomato garden to the dilapidated shed.

He rummaged through it for a moment and came out with a rusty shovel.