“I did,” he said. “At the gas station. But I told you Johnny was not a nice man and I had to leave the drinks with him.”
Didi looked around for a water hose. She saw Lyle was doing that too, but probably for a different reason. Most likely he wanted to hose down the bloody station wagon. They were both disappointed.
When they got inside the truck, Didi asked, “Don’t you have to switch the plates or something?”
Pursing his lips together, Lyle said, “Tell you what. Try not to worry about my end of this, all right?”
“Fine,” said Didi. “Doesn’t matter to me.” But it did matter to her, quite a bit. If he didn’t switch the plates, then how could the police trace them?
They got back on the road. She rolled her window down two inches, for a little fresh air. The truck, unlike the station wagon, did have air-conditioning.
However, it was broken.
Cheap piece of junk, thought Didi. “You didn’t trade way up with this one, did you? Hope you didn’t spend too much.”
“No, not too much.” Lyle smiled. “I’ll be ditching this soon anyway. This is just to get us where we need to get to.”
And where’s that? Didi wanted to ask him, but she didn’t want that nonsensical response coming at her again.
“How much did you pawn my ring for?” she asked Lyle.
“Well, Arizona, nowhere near what you said it was worth. But I didn’t pawn it. I sold it. I won’t be coming back for it, and I knew that. He gave me a little more for a straight sale. A few thou to keep us honest. So we’re flush. We can go anywhere. Where would you like to go?”
“Home,” Didi said instantly. “To my husband and kids.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Wish I could go home, too.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Oh, you know. Not everybody’s home is nice, pretty Didi.”
“Your home wasn’t nice?” she asked, trying to stir him into a conversation.
“Not particularly,” he said, falling silent.
“Is your wife at home now, Lyle?”
Lyle didn’t answer her. He seemed to have drifted to a place where she couldn’t reach him.
Didi fell silent herself. There was no sound in the truck except for her heavy breathing. Who needs Lamaze, she thought. I’m doing well without the lessons.
Didi had no idea where they were. They were on a two-lane local road. She looked for a route number, then lost interest, perking up when she saw a sign for Route 84. She was somewhere on the Texas map. Didi asked to turn on the radio, and Lyle grunted in reply. Didi saw he was sweating profusely. All his power was in that blue nylon jacket. Without that jacket Samson would be cooler but powerless.
Yeah, jacket or no jacket, he’s still stronger than you. So protect the Belly and pray to God to give you some strength real soon, pretty Didi.
They listened to country music.
Didi stopped thinking about her kids and about Rich and about being in a truck with Lyle. She was so thirsty.
All she could think about was ice-cold water. Or warm water. Water out of a revolting bathroom. Water out of the toilet bowl. Water in a dirty pond. Rainwater. Ocean water. She wiped off her sweat and licked her hands again. She knew it would make her feel worse in five minutes but she couldn’t help herself—her thirst was the fourth live presence in the Toyota.
At six, the news came on, and the first thing out of the announcer’s mouth was, “The FBI has stepped up the search for a man whose name they now know is Lyle Luft and his hostage, thirty-two-year-old Desdemona or Didi Wood—”
Lyle slammed down the power button on the radio and they rode in silence.
Didi tightened all her muscles so as not to show him her excitement—but … they knew about him! Lyle Luft. And they knew her—Desdemona. They knew. It’s only a matter of time now, she thought. They would find her. The cell phone at the pawnshop, the phone call she’d made to 911. The bloodstained car. She lifted up her throbbing fingers to her mouth and kissed them. They would find them. They had to find them before Lyle drove over the border on his way to—she recalled the name.
Mazatlán.
6:11 P.M.
Scott received a call from a trooper who had stopped a tan Ford Taurus station wagon with Lyle Luft’s license plates in Willow Grove, ten miles northwest of Waco. Only Lyle Luft and Didi weren’t in the car; a black couple in their fifties were. They said they had bought the car at Smokey’s pawnshop near a small town called Valley Mills, about five miles farther west.
When Rich heard that, he said, “Doesn’t sound like Luft is headed to Mexico. Mexico is south.”
Scott said, “For all we know he went off course to trade cars. Why don’t we go and talk to Mr. Smokey?”
They planned to fly, but the chopper wasn’t back from refueling, so they drove from Waco in a siren-blaring police car. By 6:33 they were at Smokey’s.
Mr. Smokey was closing up. He was a brown-haired burly man of about fifty, and his name wasn’t Mr. Smokey, but Charlie Rello. He said he’d thought Smokey’s would be a good name for the store. Charlie told Scott and Rich that around five-thirty a young man had stepped into his shop with several items he wanted to sell. One of them, Charlie said, was his car. Another was a cellular phone, and another was an engagement ring.
“Did you buy the cellular phone?” asked Scott.
“I took it from him. Didn’t give him nothing for it.”
“Didn’t key the numbers into the computer either, to see if it was stolen,” Scott said. “As required by law.”
“I was gonna do that now,” hastened Charlie, flushing.
“Of course you were,” Scott said.
“Engagement ring?” Rich asked. “Can I see it?”
“Sure,” said Charlie, glad to be changing the subject. “It’s a beaut.”
It certainly was. Didi’s ring was the nicest ring Rich had been able to find. “That’s hers,” he said weakly, taking out his American Express card.
Charlie laughed. “Was hers. It’s mine now, pal.”
“Don’t you pal him, sir,” Scott said. “His wife has been kidnapped by the man who gave you the phone and that ring. I am now going to confiscate both items as exhibits one and two in the U.S. government’s case against Lyle Luft.”
“You can’t confiscate that ring!” Charlie Rello cried plaintively. “Where’s your search warrant?”
Scott flipped open his cellular phone. “Do you have a fax machine? I will fax the warrant here in two minutes. I’m warning you, though, with a warrant, I will take a lot more than just that ring. And there will be a nice federal investigation into the legitimacy of your business, I can assure you.”
Cursing under his breath, Charlie Rello motioned to Scott to put down his phone. “Come on, man, you can’t take that ring. I just paid ten grand for it.”
Scott laughed. “Now, I know you didn’t buy that ring for ten grand.”
“For that ring? Are you kidding me? Look what a beaut it is. He wanted fifteen for it. Said that’s what he paid.”
“Bullshit. I don’t think you ever in your life had a ten-thousand-dollar transaction go through your doors.” Scott smirked. “Certainly not out your pocket and into his. Sorry, Charlie, the ring is ours.”
Rich intervened. “I will be glad to give you what you paid for it.”
“Ten thousand dollars,” said Charlie.
Rich took out his checkbook. Scott covered it with his hand.
“The man has offered you something for the ring. You will either give it to him for the pennies you paid for it, or you will give it to him for nothing. What will it be? A search warrant or a sale, Charlie?”
Gritting his teeth, Charlie Rello muttered, “Fifteen hundred.” Rich wrote out a check; Charlie reluctantly took it. Rich stretched out his hand for the ring. Scott moved Rich’s hand away, shaking his head, no. “Give it here,” he said to Charlie.
“Can I have it?” said Rich sharply.
“No,” said Scott, aski
ng Charlie for a tissue.
“What?”
“A tissue? A Kleenex?”
Charlie brought out a roll of paper towels from the back. Scott ripped one off and wrapped the ring securely in it. Then he gave it to Rich to hold.
Then Scott gingerly picked up the phone and wrapped it in a paper towel also.
“About the phone,” Charlie said nervously. “I didn’t really want it. I was just holding it here for him.”
“Why were you holding the phone for him?” Scott asked, glaring suspiciously at Charlie. “Did he say he was coming back?”
“No, no, nothing like that. He didn’t say,” Charlie quickly replied.
He told Scott and Rich that when he tested the phone to see if it worked and pushed the redial button, 911 had come up. He asked the guy if everything was all right, and the young man shrugged and said yes, though they had just seen an accident on the highway and called to report it. That sounded good to Charlie, who now looked embarrassed. He added that the phone’s battery had been nearly dead, so he hadn’t been able to check out anything else.
“Did the guy say where he was going?” Scott asked.
“He said out west with his wife. He needed a better car, so I sold him the Toyota truck. It really wasn’t much better, but it was all I had, and he didn’t seem to know the difference.”
“You sold his car pretty quickly.”
“Yeah, I called a customer right away.” Charlie smiled. “They’d been waiting on a station wagon awhile.”
Charlie said when he went out to inspect the trade-in, the guy’s pregnant wife had been standing near the car. When the guy saw her standing by the door, he ran to her and helped her back in. The young woman watched Charlie very carefully as he went around the station wagon. He had felt a little insulted, Charlie said, because she was acting as if he were going to steal the car with her in it.
“How did she look?” Rich asked as calmly as his breaking voice would allow.
“Pretty good. Long brown hair. You know, like a nice wife. Her dress was dirty, though,” he said. “Or I thought it was dirty. It didn’t look clean. I thought—a pregnant woman should take care of herself better.”
Rich nodded heavily.
“You didn’t ask why they wanted to trade the car?” asked Rich.
Scott placed a calming hand on Rich’s back and shook his head.
Charlie said, laughing, “What, are you kidding me? If I was to ask every person who comes in here why they want to sell this or that, I’d have been out of business ten years ago.” He laughed again. “And this guy actually looked better than most of my customers. He had a cute wife. I don’t ask questions.”
Scott said, “Okay, thanks. So that’s everything?”
Rich noticed that Charlie cast Scott a furtive look, but said, yes, that’s everything.
“What else?” said Rich.
“That’s all.”
“That’s all,” said Scott, pulling Rich’s arm.
“No, there’s something else,” Rich insisted. “What else?”
“There’s nothing else,” said Charlie quickly, and this time Scott noticed it too, because he came back to the counter and said to Charlie, “I don’t have a lot of time. He’s close, and we have to find him. What else?”
“Nothing that’s gonna help you find him,” said Charlie.
“Tell us anyway,” said Scott.
“I had to wipe down the inside of his station wagon before I sold it.”
“Why?”
Charlie became lost for words.
“Why?” said Scott, much louder.
Charlie jumped. “Don’t yell, man,” he said quietly, leaning over to Scott. “I just don’t want to upset him, you know?” He pointed at Rich.
“Upset me?” repeated Rich. “You’re too late. I’m already there.”
Charlie said, “The passenger seat of the car had blood on it. Not a lot of blood, but blood, smeared, like, all over the seat.”
Rich wanted to break something.
“Also, he was supposed to switch the plates. He told me he was going to do it. But he didn’t, the jerk. If it’s helpful I can give you the plate number of the truck.”
Scott took the number, and they left the shop. In the car Scott immediately called in an APB on a blue 1984 Toyota pickup. “Armed and dangerous,” he repeated. “Approach with extreme caution.”
Rich asked Scott, “What did you need the phone for? It’s just a cell phone.”
“Oh, I know. It’s all evidence against him. Fingerprints. Skin particles. If we should go to trial and all.”
Rich thought about it. “What do you need the damn phone for as evidence? You’ll have my wife to say she was abducted by him.”
Scott didn’t reply and didn’t look at Rich, who felt increasingly uneasy about Scott.
On the way back to Waco, when Scott wasn’t looking, Rich opened up the paper towel and fingered Didi’s ring. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it—the band, the diamond, and the inside where her skin had touched it.
6:30 P.M.
“Are you hungry?” Lyle asked Didi.
“No,” she replied in a whisper. “I’m thirsty.” She tried to keep her eyes closed, not wanting to look out of the window. The prairie swimming by her eyes was making her dizzy. She remembered that Irene had to be given Dramamine whenever the family went on long trips. She thought, if I die, I hope Rich buries me close to where we live so that Reenie won’t get nauseated every time they go to visit me. Otherwise, she’d associate throwing up with coming to see me and then ask not to go. It made Didi unspeakably sad to think that her precious baby girl wouldn’t come to the cemetery to visit her. Comfort, comfort, she prayed. Please, Lord, let me think of something.
There was little to comfort her. At home it would have been dinnertime, and Didi wondered if the girls had had their dinner, whether Amanda had let Rich make her the steak, whether they were giving Rich any trouble or were playing nicely. Tonight was big bath night. What was Rich going to do without Didi? He’d probably have to give them a fast bath, but then their hair wouldn’t get washed—
Rich, what is he thinking now? What could he be thinking?
And now what? What’s he doing now? He must be going crazy. He probably hasn’t eaten since lunch.
Didi remembered lunch. Oh, no. There was no food at lunch. Unless he just went in and ordered himself a sandwich while waiting. But he wouldn’t do that.
Poor Richie. Hungry, all alone with the girls. My parents are in Europe, his mother can’t be much help. What’s he thinking?
Didi prayed for Rich, prayed for Manda and Reenie, prayed for God to give them a little bit of comfort.
The sun was in front of them, so they couldn’t be going south toward Mexico anymore. They were traveling west. What was west of Waco? Didi couldn’t think. El Paso? Big Bend? A long way away. New Mexico? Arizona? California? Where are we going? she said again, but to herself, thinking about her babies, her hand on the Belly.
Closing her eyes, seeing Rich on the road, seeing Rich mow the lawn and afterward run through the sprinkler with naked Amanda. Manda-banda, he was screaming, and she was screaming back, Daddy-baddy. It wasn’t Rich Didi had been thinking of, and it wasn’t Amanda. It was the sprinkler. Didi had put on her bathing suit and joined them and the sprinkler wet her skin in the sun and it felt so—so—wet.
She licked her lips.
No solace in prayer. No solace in thought. A month ago, in June, Leslie, her oldest friend, had given birth by cesarean section, and when they were sewing her up, they must have nicked her colon, because she got a massive infection and nearly died. She was still in the hospital for the July Fourth weekend and couldn’t come to Rich and Didi’s bash. Didi had sent Leslie flowers and homemade chocolate-covered strawberries, and had prayed for her, hoping she would soon see her baby son, who was at home without his mother.
And then just yesterday—really yesterday? Yes, yesterday—Didi had called another girlfriend, Joan,
who had been expecting a baby around the same time as Didi, and found out from Joan’s husband that the baby had been stillborn.
Didi couldn’t imagine anything worse. Joan was forty-three and pregnant for the first time. When Didi hung up, she cried for an hour. Even her girls couldn’t cheer her up.
It was about Joan and Leslie that Didi had had her fight with Rich. It wasn’t their fault. It was Didi’s fault. Well, actually, it was Rich’s fault for not being more sympathetic about her fears, because Didi had been right.
It was nobody’s fault, but Didi had been right.
She opened her eyes, blinked, tried to concentrate on the road. She fixed her gaze straight ahead. The sun was in her eyes, and all she saw was white spots. She closed her eyes again and licked her lips. The lips stayed dry. The white spots wouldn’t go away. She felt the Belly tightening, hurting. She tried to forget about where she was. She tried to think of Florida and her parents’ winter home in St. Pete. She thought of the Gulf of Mexico and her own swimming pool. Water. She thought of Disney World, but again, the water parks. She thought of vacations they had had. The Hamptons—water. Canada—many lakes in Quebec. Hawaii—such a beautiful blue Pacific. Cancún—such a beautiful blue Atlantic. St. Croix—the dazzling Caribbean. The white spots in her eyes turned to blue water. She dived into them, headfirst, and didn’t come up for air, dived and felt the water on her face. Water, water, water.
* * *
Yesterday, when Rich came home he had been upset because there was no dinner. But Didi was so miserable about her friend she couldn’t cook. They had Oodles of Noodles and Kraft macaroni and cheese, and Cokes. The girls loved it. Rich grumbled. After they put the kids to bed, the fight started.
Didi told him about Joan, and Rich said he felt badly for her. But he was not getting it, wasn’t getting the strident tone in Didi’s voice.
“Rich,” Didi said, pacing around their bedroom, her hands on her heart. “Listen to how scared I am.”
“Scared of what?”
“That something horrible is going to happen to me.”
Eleven Hours Page 12