by Thomas Perry
“Yeah, but what then?”
Jane threw up her hands and let them rest on her lap. “I can’t be sure. Probably they would do what I did: give you fake papers and a plane ticket. You’d be a protected witness. I’ll be honest with you. They’re very, very good at protecting you until you testify. After that you’re a drain on the budget and not much use. At that point you come back to me and I’ll try again.”
“I can’t go to the police,” said Pete.
“You said that when I met you. Now is the time to be sure.”
“There are three men who own Pleasure, Incorporated. I know enough about all of them to get the cops a warrant to investigate, and a few tips on specific places to look, and I’m done. I didn’t see things happen. I put two and two together. I heard them tell Calvin Seaver, the security guy, someone was a problem, and then read an obituary. I saw a rough count of the day’s take on a piece of paper, and then a lower number on the ledger in the computer. The paper’s gone. I’m not an eyewitness, I’m a rumormonger.”
Jane heard an edge in his voice. “You’re not telling everything. You did something.”
“The reason I was getting ready to leave was that I was expected to do things that could get me in trouble. I signed receipts when I knew the count was wrong. I deposited money that came in from side businesses I never saw, and sent it to investors without reporting it to the I.R.S. I never sat down and listed all the things like that, I just got out. I think the cops could find evidence against the owners, but I know they could find some against me. I’ll let you out of the car in Bigfork, or anything you want, but I can’t go to the police.”
“The people you worked for think you can.” Ahead, she could see the police cars parked at angles in the other lane.
“I’ve been over this in my mind a million times. They must think I saw more than I did, or took evidence with me, or God knows what. But I didn’t. I won’t end up in some protected place. I’ll be in a Nevada State Prison, and they’ll hire some lifer to kill me.” He drove past the roadblock, and Jane felt a little twinge in her chest.
Jane watched him take the turn just before the buildings began to cluster at Bigfork. He swung onto the smaller road and accelerated. She said, “Creston is eight miles. Bear right again there.” She turned around in her seat to stare out the back window. She saw a few cars go the other way, toward Kalispell and Whitefish, and wondered if that would have been the way to safety. The road always seemed to have forks in it, and all she could do was pick. Maybe what she was watching recede into the distance was her chance to ever go home again.
They were at the Creston intersection in ten minutes, then onto 206 and climbing again, higher into the gray mountains. At Columbia Heights they switched onto U.S. 2. The road curved around big stony outcroppings, always climbing. Ahead were towns too small to hide in—Hungry Horse, Martin City, Coram. Always Jane studied the map. The idea of moving around in these mountains, where there were places to stay and everyone was a tourist, had seemed to be a good one. But now the roads reminded her of the chutes in a stock pen. Each opening looked at first like a way out, but each was an irrevocable choice. The walls were too high to jump and the animal couldn’t turn around. The animal had no way to go but forward, pushed by the ones behind it. Somewhere, waiting at the end of the chutes, was a man with a hammer.
The hunters could see what the map told Jane as well as she could. She could leave this road only by two routes—along the east side of Glacier National Park and then north on Chief Mountain Highway to the Canadian border, or north along the west side of the park by the Flathead River on 486.
She looked more closely at the map. Route 486 stopped at the Canadian border. There were no little flags there to indicate a point of entry, as there were on the Chief Mountain Highway. She couldn’t risk choosing a road that might lead to a dead end with a fence across it. She turned the map over and studied the little detailed map of the area on the back.
The map showed Route 486 ending at the border. It showed the customs checkpoint on Chief Mountain Highway. But the checkpoint had a note under it in small black print. “Closed September 15–May 15.” After September 15 there was only one way to Canada by car.
Jane looked at Pete, driving the car along the highway.
He seemed to feel her gaze. He turned. “What?”
“Take the entrance to Glacier National Park at West Glacier. If there’s a store in any of the towns before then, stop there.”
“Do you have it figured out?”
“I think I know a way out of this, if that’s what you mean.”
“Whatever it is, I like it better than your last idea about the cops.”
“Wait and see.”
* * *
By five in the morning, Linda had searched the house as thoroughly as she dared with Carey sleeping behind the closed door at the end of the upstairs hallway. There seemed to be nothing lying around downstairs that could tell her more than she already knew about where Jane was or what she was likely to try next. The pads by the phones had no useful jottings on them, and darkening the top sheet with a pencil revealed no impressions that Linda could read. There seemed to be no weapons hidden where she could find them, no papers that would give her the false names Jane and Hatcher were using. When she began to fear that Carey would wake up, she retreated into her guest room.
She told herself not to worry. She had not failed completely. She had given Earl the name of the town, and if Earl caught up with them at Salmon Prairie, it didn’t matter what they had been calling themselves: they were going to be John and Jane Doe. But she had not come all this way and worked this hard to get into Jane’s house only to have Jane’s husband push her out again.
The thought made Linda’s throat contract in an angry gulp. Somehow Carey had become the worst part of this job for Linda. The thought of him made her sick with humiliation and regret. She had used every opportunity to show him that she was available. Could he be so stupid that he had not understood? No, that was just a way of salvaging her pride. She had even given him an eyeful of what was being offered.
She looked in the mirror above the dresser. It was so unfair. That body was absolutely perfect. Her face was captivating. How could he go scuttling down the hall and lock himself in his room like that? Jane could not possibly be prettier than Linda was.
She walked to the telephone by the bed and forced herself to concentrate. First she looked in the telephone book and tried dialing a few numbers. She settled on one that belonged to a restaurant that sounded too fancy to serve breakfast. It rang twenty times before she hung up. She copied the number and began to dress.
At six thirty, Carey knocked quietly on the door. Linda stopped at the mirror, checked her hair and makeup, and then opened the door.
“Good morning,” he said. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
She gave her best smile. “You’re not. I don’t sleep in an evening gown.” She made her eyes twinkle. “As you know.”
Carey glanced at his watch. “It’s six thirty …”
Linda’s brows knitted in apologetic distress. “I’m afraid I’ve got another problem, Carey.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been calling the impound lot since quarter to six, and they’re not answering. Didn’t the sign say they opened at six?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what it said.” She could tell he was trying to look as though he were hiding his worry, but what he was hiding was irritation. “When did you call last?”
“A minute ago. I know you have to be at the hospital by seven …”
“Let’s try it again. The only place for a phone is in that little building, and they could be out on the lot.” He stepped into the guest room with her and picked up the telephone. “What’s the number?”
She handed him the little pad from the telephone where she had written down the number, and he dialed. He let the phone ring longer than she had, and finally hung up. “It doesn’t really mean they
’re not open. I’ll drive you there, and if nobody’s around, you can always get a cab at the hospital.”
“Can I make another suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“They’re sure to be open by nine or so, right?”
“I would think so.”
“Then it would make me happiest if you would just go to work. I’ll call a cab to pick me up here at eight. If we’re both wrong and the place is deserted, the cab can keep going and take me home. That way you don’t leave some patient waiting on a gurney. Better still, I’m not left on the street in an evening gown in an unfamiliar city. And I’m not seen driving back to the hospital wearing last night’s clothes with a married man whose wife is out of town.”
She could see that the suggestion had the desired effect. It contained reasoning he could follow, and it also gently reminded him of what could have happened. He seemed flustered as he shrugged. “I’m sorry. Everything seems to have gotten complicated.” He was fiddling with his keys. He handed her one of them. “Would you mind locking up when you go? You can just pop the key into the mail slot in the front door.”
She took the key. “No problem.” She touched his arm. “And I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to be this much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” he lied.
“I’m very grateful,” she said. “More grateful than you know.”
He backed away from her gratitude toward the stairs. “It’s getting late.”
“Oh, Carey?”
He stopped. “Yes?”
“I promise this is the last thing I ask. But do you think you could lend me something of Jane’s—an old pair of jeans and a sweater or something? Just to get me home.”
He seemed surprised, then reluctant, but as she had expected, he did not know how to refuse. “Of course,” he said. “I offered last night and then forgot. I’m sorry. Her closet is in the master bedroom. Take what you need.” He hurried down the stairs and out the front door.
At two thirty, Linda Thompson dialed the telephone and heard the machine in her suite come on. She pressed the two-digit code and listened while the machine rewound. She could tell there was something on the tape. There was a click, and Earl’s voice came over the line.
“I picked them up at Salmon Prairie and followed them as far as Swan Lake. I drilled a man through a restaurant window from five hundred yards. Felt pretty good about it until I saw their car pull out of the lot with them in it. They took off to the north. They could be heading to Canada. Lenny’s with me, and we’re going after them. When you find out where they are, leave a message on the machine at home. As soon as I’ve heard it, I’ll erase it from here.” There was a loud hang-up sound, and then a beep. Linda put the receiver back on the cradle. Earl had not said “If you find out.” He had said “When.”
Linda felt a shiver of fear that started in her shoulders, crept down her spine, and shot back up again. She could tell from the chill in his voice that he thought he had figured out exactly what Linda had needed to do to find out about Salmon Prairie.
That made Linda feel afraid again. His voice had sounded cold and detached on the answering machine, and that was very bad. He was resenting her for it, and Earl’s resentment was always acted out.
She was in trouble. She had not done what he thought she had done, but he was going to punish her for it. And here he was, sending her back for more, knowing deep inside that he was going to hate what she did this time even more than the last, and he was saving it all up.
The telephone had not rung since Jane had called from Salmon Prairie. Carey knew nothing more recent than that, so no matter how devious Linda was about asking him where his wife was now, he couldn’t tell her. She would have to buy time.
The best way would be to stay very close to him—move in with him, so she would hear the telephone ring and he would tell her, not because she had asked but because he wanted to. And the only reason he would want to tell her was to convince her that his wife was still very far away, that she was not about to burst in the door and find Linda with him. If Linda hoped to accomplish that, then she would have to make Carey want very much to keep her near him. Last night she had been sure she had him. He had not been as adventurous as she had anticipated, but there was no question he had been tempted.
Linda lay back on the bed and tried to coax from her imagination ways to make Carey interested in her. There was a special kind of titillation in the images she conjured, because even as she planned, she could feel Earl thinking about her on the bed with Carey and getting that strange combination of jealousy and arousal that was most exciting to her. Linda knew what her punishment was going to be, because she was going to submit herself for it.
She was going to make the big, wet tears come, and make her voice go small and helpless, and say, “Then he did this, and this, and this.” And Earl, because he was Earl, would make her do again everything she described for him. She could already hear his voice, through clenched teeth, whispering, “Like this? Was it like this?” And she would be beside herself with excitement, because with Earl it wasn’t like being with a man. It was like being possessed by a demon—part guilty, shameful sensation, but mostly fearing and sharing all of that power. A necessary part of her fantasy was that Earl would begin her punishment only after he had killed Carey. She liked to imagine that he would do it with a knife.
25
As the sign for Hungry Horse drifted past her window, Jane said, “Keep your eyes open for a sporting goods store. If we don’t find what we need here, go on to Coram. If you see a military surplus store or one of those places for survival psychos, don’t pass it by.”
They both saw the store at the same time, and it seemed to be a little of each. The sign was big and crude, but the merchandise in the window included skis and toboggans. “Park off the street,” she said. Pete found a space behind the building between two delivery trucks and they entered.
Jane picked out two of everything—compasses, canteens, sleeping bags, waterproof matches, flashlights. Pete hovered beside her to take the merchandise she selected, a worried look on his face. She whispered, “You wanted another option. Without this stuff we don’t have one.”
She carefully picked out their clothes: rainproof ponchos, olive-drab woolen pants with belted ankles, pullover sweaters, hiking boots, wool socks, long underwear, M-65 field jackets, gloves, and watch caps. Next she found a pair of ten-power binoculars, polarized sunglasses and Swiss Army knives for each of them, packets of dried food, a cook pot, and, finally, two backpacks to carry it all in.
Then Jane joined Pete at the counter, where he stood beside the pile of purchases he had built. As an afterthought, Jane picked up a small foam fire extinguisher, added it to the pile, and paid the clerk in cash.
When they had loaded all of the bags into the car, Jane began to sort out her purchases and pack the two backpacks while Pete drove. “There will be some kind of ranger station or visitor center at West Glacier. Stop there too, but put the car between two tour buses or behind a building or somewhere.”
“Pretty authentic disguises,” said Pete. Behind the thin sound of hope in his voice there was dread.
“I’m afraid they’re not disguises,” she said.
“They’re not?”
She looked at him unapologetically. “Not exactly. It’s something I stumbled on by looking at the map. We’re brought up to see the world as a lot of roads. It’s like a grid, with dots for the towns at the intersections and nothing between the roads at all. These people will keep chasing us if we stay on the lines. We have to stop now and then at one of those dots at the intersections, and they’ll catch up. So we’ll see the map differently for a couple of days.”
“We’re going camping? What does that get us?”
“I’m not sure yet, so I’m not making promises. I think they’re using commercial computer databases to track us; the lists of people who buy handguns, cars, or rent hotel rooms. I’ve never used the same names or credit card
s two days in a row, and that’s always worked before. But it’s not working now. I made some phone calls, but they were from pay phones. They don’t transmit the numbers of pay phones for caller ID to pick up, so nobody can be intercepting the signal and finding us that way. Even if they managed to find out where I live and tapped my home phone, I never said where I was calling from. Our phone bill comes at the end of the month, so they’re not reading it. I don’t have any idea what these people are doing, or how. And that scares me.”
“Isn’t it possible that they just followed us?”
“Maybe. Maybe they out-thought me—figured what I would do, then drove along the right road and showed your picture to hotel desk clerks and waitresses. But it’s not a great method if what you plan to do after you find the person is kill him. It’s also possible that they’re tracking this car electronically.”
“How do we find out—search it?”
“Dump it.”
“Where do we get another car out here?”
She gave her sad little smile again. “We don’t. I’d love to get a new one and drive until the tread is off the tires. But we tried that, and a shooter turned up. I’d love to put on a blond wig and step onto an airplane to anywhere. But unless we know for sure how they’re tracking us, we can’t do anything that puts us in a predetermined airport at a prearranged time. The safest tactic I can think of is to do the opposite: go where there are no people to see us, no schedules, and no records for anybody to break into. It’s not a great idea, but it’s an idea. We’ve got to keep moving.”
“Keep moving where?”
She sighed. “I think we have no choice but to dump everything we had when we walked into that restaurant this morning, and cross the border.”
“Canada?”
“If they’re using computer data files, it’s possible crossing a national border will make it harder. A lot of businesses are national—not international. If their car gets searched at the border, there will be guns in it. There might be other advantages, but there are no disadvantages that I know of.”