I felt in a strange, unsettled mood all the rest of that day. There was too much to take in. Tom's death, finding myself next on York's list,
and the prospect of being tethered out like a sacrificial goat the next day, all jostled for place in my mind. Each time I acclimatized myself to one I'd remember another, and be emotionally sandbagged all over again. It was just as well that I didn't have anything demanding to do at the morgue. The more exacting tasks were finished, and all that remained was to sort and reassemble what little of Willis Dexter's skeleton had been recovered from the woods. That was purely routine, and wouldn't take long. Scavengers had made off with most of the bones, and the few that had been found were so badly gnawed that the hardest part was identifying what some of them were. So there was nothing to distract my thoughts from following their vicious cycle. Nor was there anyone there I could talk to. Summer hadn't shown up that morning, although after Tom's death I hadn't really expected her to. There was little left for her to do anyway. But while I would have welcomed some company, I felt a coward's relief when one of the other morgue assistants told me that it was Kyle's day off. He'd still to learn about Noah Harpers positive Hepatitis C result, and just then I was glad I didn't have to face him. Paul, too, was absent for most of the morning, tied up in the usual run of meetings. It was almost lunchtime before I saw him. He still looked tired, though not so much as the day before. 'How's Sam?' I asked, when he called into the autopsy suite. 'She's fine. No more false alarms, anyway. She's planning on seeing Mary this morning. Oh, and if you're not busy tonight you're invited for dinner.' Under any other circumstances I would have been glad to accept. My social calendar wasn't exactly full, and the prospect of another night alone in my hotel was depressing. But if York was watching me the last thing I wanted was to involve Paul and Sam. 'Thanks, but tonight's not a good time.' 'Uh-huh.' He picked up a badly chewed thoracic vertebra and turned it in his fingers. 'I talked to Dan Gardner. He told me about I the skin left on your car last night. And that you'd volunteered to help catch York.' I wouldn't have described it as volunteered, but I was glad Paul knew, all the same. I'd been wondering how much to tell him. 'It was either that or catch the next plane home.' I was trying to make light of it. It didn't work. He set the vertebra back down on the examination table. 'You sure you know what you're getting into? You don't have to do this.' Yes, I do. 'I'm sure it'll be fine. But you see why dinner isn't a good idea.' 'This is no time to be on your own. And I know Sam would like to see you.' He gave a grim smile. 'Trust me, if I thought there was any chance of putting her at risk I wouldn't be asking you. I'm not saying York isn't dangerous, but I can't see him being crazy enough to try anything now. Leaving the skin on your car was probably an empty threat. He had his big chance with Tom, and he blew it.' 'I hope you're right. But I still think we should leave it till some other time.' He sighed. 'Well, it's your call.' After he'd gone a wave of depression settled over me. I was almost tempted to phone and say I'd changed my mind. But only almost. Paul and Sam had enough going on in their lives as it was. The last thing I wanted was to take any trouble to their door. I should have realized that Sam wasn't going to be put off that easily. I was in the hospital's cafeteria, picking listlessly at a bland tuna salad and moodily contemplating the rest of the day, when she rang. She got straight to the point. 'So what's wrong with my cooking?' I smiled. 'I'm sure your cooking's delicious.' 'Oh, it's the company, then?' 'It isn't the company either. I appreciate the invitation, really. But I can't make tonight.' I hated being evasive, but I wasn't sure how much Sam knew. I needn't have worried. 'It's all right, David, Paul's told me what happened. But we'd still like to see you. It's thoughtful of you to be concerned, but you can't put yourself in quarantine until this creep's been caught.' I gazed out of the window. People were walking past outside, absorbed in their own lives and problems. I wondered if York was out there somewhere. Watching. 'It's only for a few days,' I said. 'And if it was the other way round? Would you turn us away?' I didn't know what to say to that. 'We're your friends, David,' Sam went on. 'This is an awful time, but you don't have to be alone, you know.' I had to clear my throat before I could answer.'Thanks. But I don't think it's a good idea. Not right now.' 'Then let's make a deal. Why don't you let thisTBI guy decide? If he agrees with you, then you get to stay in your room and watch cable. If not, you come over tonight for dinner. OK?' I hesitated. 'OK. I'll call him and see what he says.' I could almost hear her smile down the phone line. 'I can save you the trouble. Paul checked with him already. He says he doesn't have any objection.' She paused, giving me time to realize I'd been set up. 'Oh, and tell Paul to pick up some grape juice on your way over, will you? We're all out,' she added sweetly. I was still grinning as I lowered the phone.
The traffic was bad heading out of Knoxville, but it eased the further from the city we went. I followed Paul, trying to keep his car in sight in the constantly streaming lanes. I switched on my radio, letting the anodyne music wash over me. But I still felt restless and on edge, glancing round every few minutes to see if I was being followed. I'd called Gardner before we'd left. Not because I didn't trust Sam, but I still wanted to speak to him myself. 'Provided you take your own car and don't go walking off anywhere by yourself, I don't have a problem with it,' he'd said. 'So you don't think I'll be putting them at any risk?' He sighed. I could hear the exasperation in his voice. 'Look, Dr Hunter, we want York to think you're behaving normally. That doesn't mean locking yourself in your hotel room every night.' 'But you'll have someone following me anyway?' 'Let us worry about that. Like I said, for now you just need to carry on as normal.' Normal. There was precious little that was normal about the situation. Despite Gardner's reassurance, I'd left the mortuary through a back door rather than the main entrance. Then I'd driven round the hospital campus, meeting Paul at a different exit from the one I usually took. Even so, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. As I followed him away from the hospital, I repeatedly checked in the mirror. Nothing pulled out behind me. If the TBI or anyone else was there I couldn't see them. Still, it was only when I'd merged with the homeward flow of evening traffic, becoming part of the metal river, that I began to accept that I wasn't being followed. On the outskirts of Knoxville Paul stopped at a drive-by store for Sam's grape juice. He suggested I wait in my car, but I wasn't about to do that. So I went in with him, buying a bottle of Napa Valley Syrah I hoped would go with whatever Sam was cooking. The air was tainted with petrol and exhaust fumes as we walked back to the cars, but it was a beautiful evening. The sun was starting to set, throwing golden arms across the skyline, while the thickly wooded slopes of the Smoky Mountains purpled into dusk. I gave a start as Paul swore and slapped at the back of his neck. 'Damn bugs,' he muttered. He and Sam lived in a new lakeside development between Knoxville and Rockford to the south. Part of it was still being built, piles of earth and timber giving way to manicured lawns and newly planted flower beds the further in we went. Their house was on a meandering side road that skirted the lake and curved round each property, giving a pleasing impression of space and privacy. The development still had a raw, unfinished look, but it had been well planned with plenty of trees, grass and water. It would be a good place to raise a family. Paul turned into the driveway and pulled up behind Sam's battered Toyota. I parked on the road and climbed out to join him. 'We're still decorating the nursery, so don't mind the mess,' he said as we headed up the path. I wouldn't. For the first time I felt glad I'd come, my spirits lighter than they'd been in days. Their house was set slightly back from the rest so that it had a larger garden. In a rare display of conservation and common sense, the builders had worked round a beautiful mature maple, turfing around it so the tree became a centrepiece. I remember thinking as we walked past that it would be ideal for a child's swing. It's odd how these things stay with you. 'Paul? Wait up a second!' The shout came from the neighbouring house. A woman was bustling across the lawn towards us.Tanned and trim, with too-bright blond hair coiffed into an elaborat
e bun, at first glance I'd have put her in her late fifties. But as she drew closer I revised that upwards, first to sixties and then seventies, as though she was ageing with every step. 'Oh, great,' Paul muttered under his breath. He mustered a dutiful smile. 'Hi, Candy' The name was too cute and too young, yet somehow suited her. She went to stand close to him, her poise that of an ageing model who doesn't realize her decade is over. 'I'm 50 glad I saw you.' Her too-white dentures gave her words a slight sibilance. She rested a liver-spotted hand on his arm, the veined skin as brown as old moccasins. 'I wasn't expecting to see you back so soon. How's Sam?' 'She's fine, thanks. Just a false alarm.' Paul started to introduce me. 'Candy, this is--' 'A false alarm?' Her face fell with dismay. 'Oh, Lord, not again. When I saw the ambulance, I felt sure it was for real this time!' There was an instant when the evening seemed suspended. I could smell the freshness of the new grass and blossom, feel the first chill of night behind the spring warmth. The smooth weight of the wine bottle in my hand still held the promise of normality. Then the moment shattered. 'What ambulance?' Paul looked more confused than concerned. 'Why, the one that came earlier. About four thirty, I guess.' The woman's painted smile was collapsing. Her hand fluttered to her throat. 'Surely someone told you? I thought. . .' But Paul was already running towards the house. 'Sam? Sam!' I quickly turned to the neighbour. 'Which hospital did she go to?' She looked from where Paul had disappeared into the house to me, her mouth working. 'I ... I didn't ask. The paramedic brought her out in a wheelchair, with one of those oxygen things on her face. I didn't want to get in the way' I left her on the path and went after Paul. The house had the smell of fresh paint and plaster, of new carpets and furniture. I found him standing in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by gleaming new appliances. 'She's not here.' He looked stunned. 'Jesus Christ, why didn't somebody call me?' 'Have you checked your phone for messages?' I waited as he did. His hand shook as he pressed the keys. He listened, then shook his head. 'Nothing.' 'Try the hospital. Do you know which one she'll have been taken to?' 'She's been going to UT Medical Center, but. . .' 'Call them.' He stared at his phone, blinking like a man trying to wake up. 'I don't have the number. Christ, I should know it!' 'Try the operator.' He was starting to come round now, his mind recovering from the initial shock. I stood by as he dialled the hospital, pacing during the agonizing transferrals. As he spelled out Sam's name for the third or fourth time, I could feel the presentiment that had dogged me all day steadily growing closer, until its presence filled the room. Paul rang off. 'They don't know anything.' His voice was controlled, but the panic was close to the surface. 'I tried the Emergency Department as well. There's no record of her being admitted.' Abruptly, he began jabbing at the keypad again.'Paul. . .' I said. 'There must be some mix-up,' he mumbled, as though he hadn't heard. 'She must've been taken to another hospital. . .' 'Paul! He stopped. His eyes met mine, and I could see the fear in them, see the knowledge he was desperately trying to deny. But neither of us had that luxury any more. I wasn't York's target. I never had been. I was just the decoy. I The night that followed was one of the longest of my life. I called Gardner while Paul phoned the rest of the hospitals in the area. He must have known Sam wouldn't be at any of them, but the alternative was too terrible to accept. As long as the possibility remained, no matter how faint, he could cling to the hope that this was all just some mistake, that his world could still return to normal. But that wasn't going to happen. It took Gardner less than forty-five minutes to arrive. By then two TBI agents were there already. They'd appeared at the house within minutes, both in grubby work clothes as though they'd come from a building site. From the speed with which they arrived I guessed they must have been very close by, no doubt part of the covert surveillance that had been promised. Not that it had done any good. Gardner and Jacobsen came into the house without knocking. Her features were carefully controlled; his were clenched and grim. He spoke briefly to one of the agents, a subdued murmur of voices, then turned to Paul. 'Tell me what happened.' There was a tremor in Paul's voice as he went over it once more. 'Any sign of a disturbance? A struggle?' Gardner asked. Paul just shook his head. Gardner's eyes went to the coffee cups on the table. 'Have either of you touched anything?' 'I made coffee,' I said. I saw in his face the accusation that I shouldn't have touched anything at all, but he didn't get the chance to voice it. 'To hell with the damn coffee, what are you going to do?' Paul burst out. 'This bastard's got rriy wife, and we're just sitting here talking!' 'We're doing everything we can,' Gardner said, with surprising patience. 'We've notified every police and sheriff's department in East Tennessee to look out for the ambulance.' 'Notified them? What about road blocks, for Christ's sake?' 'We can't flag down every ambulance on the off chance it might be York. And road blocks won't do any good when he's got several hours' head start. He could be over the state line into North Carolina by now.' The anger drained from Paul. He slumped in his chair, his face ashen. 'This might be nothing. But I've been thinking about the ambulance,' I said, choosing my words carefully. 'Wasn't there one in the security camera footage? By the phone booth where York called Tom?' It had been little more than a white shape in the foreground. I wouldn't have thought anything about it ordinarily, and I wasn't sure it was important even now. But I'd rather speak out of turn than stay silent and regret it. Gardner obviously thought otherwise. 'It was a hospital, they have ambulances.' 'Outside emergency, perhaps, but not the morgue. Not at the main entrance, anyway. Bodies aren't taken in that way' He was quiet for a moment, then turned to Jacobsen. 'Tell Megson to look into it. And have the stills sent over.' He turned back to Paul as she hurried out.'OK, I need to talk to the neighbour.' 'I'll come with you.' Paul got to his feet. 'There's no need.' 'I want to.' I could see Gardner was reluctant, but he gave a nod. He went up in my estimation for that. I was left alone in the house. The knowledge of how badly we'd been played for fools burned like acid. My noble gesture to Gardner, agreeing to offer myself as bait, now seemed nothing more than hubris. God, have you got such a high opinion of yourself ? I should have realized that York wouldn't have bothered with me when there were far more tempting targets for the taking. Like Sam. The kitchen was in near-darkness, the daylight almost completely gone. I turned on the light. The new appliances and freshly painted walls seemed mocking in their optimism. I'd been in Paul's position once myself, but with one crucial difference. When Jenny had been abducted we'd known that her captor kept his victims alive for up to three days. But there was nothing to suggest that York kept his victims alive any longer than he had to. Sam might be already dead. Restless, I left the kitchen. A forensic unit was on its way to the house, but no one seriously expected them to find anything significant. Even so, I was still careful not to touch anything as I went into the lounge. It was a comfortable, cheery room: soft sofa and chairs, coffee table half covered with magazines. It was imprinted with Sam's personality far more than Paul's; thoughtfully designed, but still a room for living in rather than admiring. I turned to go, and my eye fell on a small photo frame on the smoked glass cabinet. The picture was an almost abstract pattern of black and whites, but the sight of it was like a punch in the stomach. It was a prenatal scan of Sam's baby. I went back out into the hall. I stopped by the front door, visualizing what must have happened. A knock on the door. Sam opening it, seeing a paramedic there. She'd be confused, convinced there was some mix-up. Probably smiled as she tried to explain the mistake. And then . .. . what? There were bushes screening the front door, the big maple tree in the garden further blocking it from view. But York wouldn't have taken any chances on being seen. So he'd have tricked or forced his way inside somehow, before quickly overpowering her and bundling her into the wheelchair. Then he'd brazenly pushed her down the path to his waiting ambulance. I noticed something on the floor by the skirting board, specks of white on the beige carpet. I bent down for a closer look, and jumped as the front door suddenly opened. Jacobsen paused when she saw me crouching in the hall. I got to my feet and gestured at the white flecks.
'Looks like York was in a hurry. And no, I haven't touched anything.' She examined the carpet, then the skirting board next to it. There were scuff marks on the woodwork. 'Paint. He must have caught the skirting board with the wheelchair,' she said. 'We'd wondered how York got Professor Irving out of the woods. It was a good half-mile to the nearest parking place.That's a long way to move a grown man, especially if he's unconscious.' 'You think he used a wheelchair then as well?' 'It'd explain a lot.' She shook her head, annoyed at the oversight. 'We found what looked like cycle tracks on the trails near where Irving went missing. It's a popular area with mountain bikers, so it didn't seem relevant at the time. But wheelchairs have similar tyres.' And even ifYork had encountered anyone as he was pushing an unconscious Irving back along the trail, who would have thought anything of it? He'd just have looked like a carer taking an invalid out in the fresh air.
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